The Only Moment We Were Alone
by emmbrancsxx0
Summary: In 1940s England, the son of a wealthy hospital beneficiary and his manservant are separated when their love affair is discovered. When Merlin Emrys is committed to an experimental hospital ward to be cured of his deemed mental affliction of homosexuality, Arthur Pendragon will stop at nothing to get him back. BASED ON THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EXPERIMENTS OF DR. WILLIAM SARGANT.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **In 1940s England, the son of a wealthy hospital beneficiary and his manservant are separated when it their love affair is discovered. When Merlin Emrys is committed to an experimental hospital ward to be cured of his deemed mental affliction of homosexuality, Arthur Pendragon will stop at nothing to get him back.  
**Rating:** M [human experimentation, mental illness, death, drugs, sex]  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the BBC Merlin characters.

**Chapter One.**

_23__rd__ June, 1947  
__Kent, England_

The morning sunlight shone unabashedly through the bedroom's wide windows, which overlooked the front gardens of the manor. Its golden rays filtered through soft, fair hair and made milky skin glisten. The lazy summer breeze drifted into the room, carrying in the faint yells of the workmen toiling in the flowerbeds and fountains below, and making the opened red curtains billow; but it's gentle whoosh was drowned out by a continuous low chuckle.

A flash of bright blue, rivaled only by the day's clear sky, came back into view. Arthur had buried his face into his pillow to muffle his laughter, even though the laugh sounded through the feathers and Egyptian cotton, but he was back now, and the pillow was substituted with the crook of Merlin's neck. The line of his nose nuzzled into Merlin's collarbone, and his lips were like silk against prickling skin.

"Stop it," Merlin hissed, though he really didn't mean it, his mouth curved into a grin and his tone light. "Someone's bound to walk by any minute—and your father will wonder why I haven't fetched you from bed yet."

"But you _did_ fetch me," Arthur reasoned, withdrawing himself from Merlin to prop himself up on his side. "Last night. A bit early for breakfast, I'll admit . . ."

He gave a noncommittal shrug and wrinkled his nose.

"I don't think he'll see that as a good excuse," Merlin laughed, propping himself up on his elbows, which sank sharply back into the mattress.

"Then, we'll just have to think of another," Arthur said before tilting his head downward and pecking a kiss onto Merlin's lips. Merlin wasn't ready to leave that warmth behind, to leave Arthur's side. Of course, he was Arthur's manservant: He'd be with Arthur all day, except when chores took him elsewhere, but it was different. Here, alone, they didn't have to hide. They didn't have to pretend.

Still, the outside world called, and they both knew they could not make moments like these last forever . . .

Though, they could try.

"Say it again, then," Merlin asked, rolling over onto his stomach and folding his arms beneath his head. He kept his gaze fixed upon Arthur's.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the request. "_Mer_lin—"

"Go on," he said, raising a challenging brow.

"But you _know_ already."

"I want to hear it," Merlin countered, his vision blurring slightly as it wandered down towards Arthur's lips and jaw line. "I want to hear it every day until the day I die," he finished in a whisper, like he was lost in a reverie.

Arthur bit back a smirk and cast his eyes towards the pillow.

"Tell me you love me," Merlin said.

"I do," Arthur admitted, reaching over and running the tips of his knuckles up and down Merlin's exposed spine. "I _do_ love you."

It was a fairly new development, and it still made Merlin's cheekbones turn crimson pink and made his heart flutter.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," Arthur chided.

"Oh, but you make my lady parts quiver," Merlin joked, and Arthur couldn't contain a quick, barking laugh that caused him to remove his knuckles from Merlin and stuff them into his mouth. Merlin held back a low chuckle, too.

"That does it, I've changed my mind. I _don't_ love you," Arthur said lightly. "You're too much of an idiot."

"You can hate me, but you're still stuck with me all day," Merlin reminded him.

"Not if you get fired," Arthur said, suddenly serious, and Merlin realized his eyes were on the clock on the mantelpiece. "While it isn't hard to believe that _you_ would slack on your duties, you're right. We had better get going."

Merlin had to accept this, though he didn't want to. It was clear Arthur didn't want to, either, because he was leaning in for one last kiss to hold him off until nightfall. Merlin closed his eyes, waiting for the closer proximity, waiting for their lips to meet . . .

The kiss never came.

Perplexed, Merlin's eyes fluttered open, and he found the space beside him was suddenly vacant.

"Arthur?" he asked, quietly at first. He hadn't felt Arthur get up. He scanned the room, but Arthur was nowhere in slight.

Outside, the sun disappeared behind a cloud, and his heart suddenly began to rage in his chest as he rolled to his back and sat up.

"Arthur?" he called, louder this time, but there was no response.

He was frantic. He didn't know why. He felt around the space where Arthur was supposed to be with open palms. The sheets were cold. The mattress was untouched. It was like Arthur had never been there.

"_Arthur_!"

* * *

Merlin's eyes shot open, and the first thing they met was the white drop ceiling a few feet above him. He was panting like he'd just run a very far distance, and she wasn't completely sure if it had been his own gasp that woke him up or if the person standing beside his bed had awoken him.

"Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Emrys," the man said. He was familiar—Merlin's orderly. His face was handsome with icy eyes and a strong jaw beneath waves of brunette hair, but Merlin forgot his name.

The orderly reached down and unstrapped the buckles restraining Merlin's wrists to the bed.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Merlin sat up and blinked passed the haze that he seemed to find himself perpetually under as of late. The florescent lights above him caused a blinding glare that made him feel even more disoriented and nauseous.

_Morning_, he thought, remembering the orderly's words. It had been morning when he had been put to sleep, but not the same one. It was raining heavily as he had fallen asleep and, as he looked out the small window on the edge of his room, he saw the sky was only overcast.

"I—fine," Merlin croaked, getting a feel for his voice again. His throat felt dry.

The orderly smiled at this and lifted two paper cups, one large and containing a sloshing liquid and one small, from the nightstand and offered them to Merlin.

"Water," he said, "and your medication."

Merlin eyed him distrustfully, and there was a long pause before the orderly redoubled his offer, and he watched until he was satisfied that Merlin had begrudgingly downed the contents of both cups.

"Good," he said, taking the trash from Merlin and starting out of the room. "You have an appointment with the doctor in twenty minutes. I've left a spare hospital gown out for you to change into. I'll be back to fetch you shortly."

Before Merlin could protest, the door closed with a rattle and the orderly disappeared to finish his rounds, leaving him to get out of bed and stare down blankly at the white, thin gown and the pale blue robe folded on the end of it. He lifted his palm to his lips and spat out the pills before hiding them beneath the mattress.

About fifteen minutes later, as promised, the orderly arrived to collect Merlin and brought him through the sterile-smelling corridor and up a few flights of stairs until they reached Dr. Bayard's office on the top floor of the hospital. The room was more lavishly set up than the one Merlin was cramped into most of the time. It had a mahogany desk, a large wall unit with nearly a hundred tomes packed one against each other on the far wall, a carpet, and a few plants that gave Merlin the impression that he was back in Camelot Manor.

He sat down on the black leather chair before the desk, propping up his elbow on the armrest in order to comfortably chew his thumbnail, as he wondered how large Dr. Odin's office was in comparison. This was, after all, his ward, and Bayard was nothing but a middleman. Just as Merlin reflected on the fact that he'd never even seen Odin's face, the door of the office swung open and a tall, thin, and bearded man strode through it, carrying a file folder.

"Mr. Emrys, how did you sleep?" Bayard asked, and his smile did not falter when he saw Merlin scowling at him. Instead, he rolled his chair out and plopped down into it before directing his attention at the folder.

"You've been with us . . . six days?" he asked, consulting the file.

"Seven," Merlin corrected. He glanced over at the desk calendar on Bayard's right hand side, noticing the squares crossed out. It had been two days since he'd last seen it—two straight days of sleep. That was the longest they'd had him under since his arrival.

"It's been seven days."

"Ah, yes," Bayard said cheerfully, and he folded his hands together and fixed his eyes on Merlin. "How are you finding treatment?"

Merlin rubbed at his eyes, making them redder and deepening the dark circles beneath them. In the swirling blackness, he felt the memory of intense pain flowing quickly to every part of his body.

"It _tickles_," he said through his teeth.

"You have another session after lunch, I see," Bayard continued, once more regarding the file. When Merlin did not answer, he took that as his cue to go on. "And have you been experiencing any memory loss? Or any sensations of missing time?"

Merlin snorted mirthlessly.

"I'll take that as a yes," Bayard said, jotting down concealed notes in the file.

"Yes, because you put me to sleep for days on end!" Merlin said in a near-yell, suddenly feeling a surge of hostility.

Bayard gave a patient smile and twirled his pen between his fingers.

"The DST is necessary," he said calmly. "It helps relieve your stress, anxiety—," he looked up pointedly at Merlin, "—anger. And it enables your body to adapt to the treatments and medication."

Merlin looked down at his lap, too tired to say anything, despite his increase in sleeping patterns.

"It's always hard the first week," Bayard said sympathetically and leaned in. "But, I promise, you'll see results in time."

To this, Merlin glared at him through his eyelashes.

"These treatments have never been done before—at least not together. You told me yourself," he said. "So how can you _promise_ something like that?"

Bayard looked at him blankly for a few beats before silently writing something else down in the file. Merlin sat back in his chair and waited to be dismissed.

* * *

"Hey, Merlin! Merlin, over here!"

Merlin had barely stepped through the doors of the mess hall when he heard the voice calling to him, loud and exuberant over the din of grumbling chatter, and he located Gwaine immediately. The man slid down in his seat and kicked out the plastic chair across from him for Merlin to sit in. He had only met Gwaine twice before, once in the corridor outside the treatment rooms and once again in the cafeteria, but he seemed to have made an impression on Gwaine.

Supposing it was good to have some form of a friend inside these walls, Merlin paced over and sat heavily in the chair opposite the roguishly handsome patient.

"Glad to see you're up and about, mate," Gwaine said happily, as Merlin eyed the large, muscular man sitting next to Gwaine with curiosity. He had a crew cut and his eyes, which might have once sparkled, were now dull. Merlin instantly pegged him as a soldier.

"They woke me up today, too," Gwaine was saying. He looked around shiftily before leaning in and whispering, "They say it was only for twenty-four hours, but I'm thinking it must have been at least five days." He sat back up, pulled a frown, and nodded surely.

However, Merlin doubted it. He'd only seen Gwaine three days ago. Still, he kept it to himself and allowed Gwaine to muddle in his delusions.

"Anyway, this is Percy," Gwaine said, grinning once more, as he swiveled to his side and clasped a palm on the large man's shoulder.

Percy only gave Merlin a half-glance and fraction of a pushed smile before once again becoming fascinated with his stew and hunk of bread. Merlin tried not to eye the food too eagerly, but he'd only just realized how starving he was.

"Who put you in here, then?" Merlin asked him.

"Hilter," was the mumbled reply.

"Percy here was stationed over in Berlin during the war. Isn't that right?" Gwaine told Merlin. "He doesn't like to talk about it."

To this, Percy gave a heavy sigh and pushed his tray of food away. Merlin couldn't stop looking at it.

"Go on. It isn't gonna eat itself," said Percy, giving him permission, and Merlin snatched the tray over and tore at the dry bread.

"What are you here for?" Percy asked, watching Merlin intensely as he chewed with his mouth open.

"Yeah, I never did ask you that," Gwaine said.

It took a moment, but eventually Merlin gulped down a swallow and meekly told the stew, "I'm gay."

"Ugh! They're still counting you lot as _mental_?" Gwaine shouted, seeming outraged. It made Merlin's gaze snap back up, no longer shy in the acceptance. "You'd think people would have a little more sense. Mind you, lovin' a woman is crazy enough—so I say love is love." He pointed a finger in Merlin's face and continued, "You know who discriminated against gays? Old Adolf!"

He shot Percy, who suddenly looked like he was sucking on something sour, a quick look.

"Sorry, mate—but it _is_ true!" Settling slightly, he shrugged. "Then again, he said the same thing about us schizos, so who am I to judge?"

Merlin chuckled slightly at this, which he had honestly forgotten he knew how to do, as he took a spoonful of cold stew, but Percy's expression remained even and numb, which darkened Merlin's attitude.

"You checked yourself in, then?" he realized at once.

Percy nodded, getting a far-off look in his eyes. "Must have been a month ago," he said. "I just want to forget."

Merlin didn't. He wanted only to remember—every glowing strand of bright blonde hair, the exact shade of baby blue, each stolen kiss and moment alone.

"And have you?" he asked, trying to keep the concern out of his tone. "Forgotten?"

Percy shrugged. "Sometimes I can't remember where I was stationed," he answered. "Other times, I forget the names of my commanding officers, or the faces of the men I shot. But it all comes back eventually—in my sleep."

For once, Gwaine was silent, and Merlin stared down into the bowl, no longer hungry.

* * *

_10__th__ May, 1947_

The rising sun cast a pink glow on the carpet when Arthur cracked the door to the parlor open, checked that the coast was clear, and led Merlin closely by hand into the room.

"There's no one about, Arthur," Merlin chuckled at his wariness as the door swung closed behind them. "Your father and Morgana won't be home until Sunday. And all the servants are taking a rest—believe me. I've never seen a group of people so happy to sleep."

"You can never be too careful," Arthur told him just before crowding in and making Merlin take a step back, his spine now pressed against the wood. "Especially with you."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Merlin decided, and Arthur took him into a soft, lazy kiss before Merlin broke it. "Come on, or I'm going to get a back injury," he chuckled, sliding his fingers back into Arthur and leading him halfway to the sofa.

Arthur crossed the room to the record player, and a slow ballad scratched into life, as Merlin jumped up onto the couch's cushions and sat on the curved top, leaning against the wall again for support.

"Let's do something today," Arthur said, bouncing a little to the rhythm of the music as he walked over to meet Merlin. He kneeled on the seat of the sofa between Merlin's thighs and placed his chin on Merlin's chest to gaze up at him. "Let's get out of here."

Merlin smirked down at him, reveling in Arthur's good mood. He only got this sickeningly happy on the rare occasions that they had the manor to themselves.

"And go where?" Merlin inquired as Arthur knotted their hands together.

"I don't know," he said, thinking. "We can take a pair of horses out—ride into the woods and find a nice spot."

Merlin was imagining it, and it looked perfect in his mind.

"I can pack a picnic basket," he offered.

"Always thinking about your stomach," Arthur teased.

"And _yours_," Merlin defended. "You get cranky when you haven't eaten."

Arthur stood up, his fingers still laced in Merlin's, and he shrugged. "That's not a bad idea, actually." He tugged at Merlin's hand, causing him to stand up and hop off the couch. Then Arthur wrapped his free arm around Merlin's waist and swayed him back and forth to the music. "I'll go out and prepare the horses. No need to wake up the stable hands," he whispered. "You work on that picnic basket."

They rode until the woods gave way to open lands, until Kent became nothing but waves crashing against the rocks; and they finally found a good place to settle on the cliffs, surrounded by tall hills for privacy. They tied down the horses somewhere they could graze and set down the picnic blanket as the breeze, sweeping off the sea, caused ripples the grass and blew Arthur's bangs off his forehead. Merlin chuckled as he tried to smooth them back down, but he got distracted by the way the sunrays crowned Arthur's hair in gold and lit him up like Apollo.

After a few hours of drinking wine and strolling, or on one occasion racing, along the edge of the cliffs, they curled up together on the blanket and Arthur fell into a contented sleep. Merlin kept his head rested on Arthur's heart, playing with the buttons of his shirt and watching his chest rise and fall slowly. It must have been the warm spring sunlight mixed with alcohol and an early morning, but Merlin closed his eyes and listened to the ocean, whose sound slowly became further and further away. When he blinked awake, the sun was closer to the horizon, and Arthur's fingers were brushing through his hair.

They ate the meal Merlin had packed until they both got sidetracked by rolling around on the grass, which pricked at Merlin's bare skin and made Arthur smell sweetly of earth for the rest of the night.

Eventually, their shadows became too elongated, towering over the land until they dropped off the side of the cliffs, and they admitted that they'd have to pack up and leave.

* * *

There was a loud whizzing noise somewhere to the side, and someone was screaming, but Merlin barely registered any of it. He lost full control of himself as the electricity surged through him, concentrated on his temples where the nodes were placed, and flooded every atom within him. He felt as though his lungs might burst and his heart might stop, but the excruciation died away, and his body relaxed, muscles thumping dully, on the medical table beneath him.

He let out swallow breaths, trying with all his might to move his fingers or curl his toes, but the muscle relaxant they had given him was working almost too well for his liking.

"What is your name?" a male voice echoed. It had asked this question before, after almost every shock.

For a moment, Merlin couldn't answer. He was too ragged. To exhausted.

"What is your _name_?" the voice asked again, more persistent.

"M—Merlin Emrys," he groaned in response.

The machine hummed again, and Merlin's body bulged up and twisted against the restraints holding him down. Someone was screaming again, distantly.

"How long have you been here?"

"Seven days," Merlin answered automatically, letting his warm eyelids slip closed and allowing his head to loll to the side.

There was another pulse.

"What is your name?"

Merlin tried to gulp, but his throat was dry. Behind his eyes, the artificial light turned into rays of golden sunshine and pink lips.

"_Arthur_!" he cried out, hoping that Arthur was really there.

Merlin felt another surge, and he thought they must have turned the voltage up to maximum, because he was sure even his bones were vibrating under his flesh.

"What is your name?" he was asked in the same monotonous tone as before.

"Merlin," he breathed, barely audible. "Merlin Emrys . . ."

* * *

Merlin's slippers dragged as he was led out of the treatment room and into the examination room, where the same orderly as before met him momentarily for a quick once over.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Emrys?" he asked.

Merlin was too exhausted to respond and, even so, he wasn't sure he could. His mouth tasted too much like iron.

He was handed another cup of water and pills, which he took this time without complaint, and the water dribbled red down his chin.

"Oh, open up," the orderly requested, and Merlin let his lips part. Two gloved fingers reached up, adding a plastic taste to metal, and shoved his jaw open wider.

"Just as I thought," the orderly said. "You must have bitten your tongue during the ECT. Thankfully, it's not too deep, so it should heal within a day—but it will be sore." He picked up a file folder, opened it, and jotted down a note. "I'll have to warn them about that for next time. You're just not used to the higher voltage, is all. Bayard requested that we up your doses this morning. You were very lucid during your session."

That morning seemed like it was years ago, and Merlin did not _feel_ lucid. The words were passing into one ear and out the other before he could grasp their meaning.

The orderly closed the file and gave Merlin an amicable smile. "You'll adjust to them soon. In the meantime . . ."

He placed a palm between Merlin's shoulder blades and shepherded him out of the examination room.

"I bet you're knackered."

Merlin nodded infinitesimally; it wasn't in him to argue.

"Good," said the orderly. "Let's get you back to your room. I'll set you up with some more insulin. That should put you straight to sleep."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

_23__rd__ June, 1947_

"While it isn't hard to believe that _you_ would slack on your duties, you're right. We had better get going," Arthur reluctantly said, as he wanted nothing else than to stay right where he was, tucked between the sheets and the soft mattress, tangling his limbs with Merlin's.

Merlin was nodding softly, clearly as disappointed as Arthur felt. He was looking at Arthur expectantly, like he anticipated Arthur reading his thoughts, which he could. Arthur responded by leaning in once more for one last kiss to get them both through the long day ahead.

Before he could reach Merlin's lips, however, he heard his bedroom door creak open, followed by a familiar voice calling his name. He felt Merlin rapidly look over his shoulder. A shadow was cast in the doorway, and Arthur's eyes ripped open to find his father standing gobsmacked and still in the doorway. It didn't take long for the truth to press down upon him, and his expression flashed from confusion to fury.

"_Father_!" Arthur heard himself shout from somewhere very far away. His voice was already pleading and, although he could not see Merlin's face, he knew how terrified his expression would be.

"What in the name of God is going on here?" Uther demanded through his teeth, taking a few steps into the room before stopping dead, as though he didn't want to get too close.

Arthur was sitting up straight now, trying to find a shred of composure despite his nudity beneath the sheets. Merlin had not moved, could not move.

"Father, please—" Arthur began, wondering if any words of explanation could get through his constricted throat.

Uther put a hand up, his eyes averted to the open windows behind his son.

"Come downstairs immediately—the both of you," he said, his voice shaking with anger, and he turned to leave. For a moment, Arthur expected him to look over his shoulder, but he never faltered, and the door slammed in his wake.

It wasn't until the footsteps died away down the corridor did Merlin jump and stare at Arthur. His mouth was wide open, moving in silent words that he could not find, and soft, unintelligible noises rose from his throat until they formed the utterance, "Arthur—"

"I know," Arthur told him, remembering his muscles functions and cupping Merlin's cheeks firmly in his palms. He fished for Merlin's gaze. "I know, listen to me, Merlin—"

Merlin was looking at him with fear and hope, clearly willing to follow any plan Arthur might have. But Arthur found, under Merlin's petrified gaze, he wasn't coming up with any logical tactics, though his mind did whirl. Should he tell Merlin to flee? To leave the manor and never come back? But then Arthur would never see him again. Uther would surely find them if Arthur ran, too. He didn't know if he could bear losing Merlin forever.

"We'll make him see. We'll make him understand," Arthur tried to convince himself, but Merlin wasn't so sure. He shook his head between Arthur's hands.

"He _won't_ understand. I'm going to get kicked out. Arthur—"

"He _has_ to!" Arthur hissed harshly, shaking Merlin a bit. It made Merlin's breath catch, and Arthur immediately regretted his actions. He hadn't meant to take his frustration out on Merlin, but it leaked through.

"He has to," Arthur said more softly this time, stroking Merlin's cheekbone with his thumb. "I will protect you, Merlin," he promised, "and your mother. I won't let anything bad happen."

Merlin visibly swallowed passed the lump in his throat and nodding frantically, wanting to believe. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's frame, holding him close, and feeling his heart beat in swift tandem with Arthur's own.

They had to go. Forestalling it would only make it worse.

Minutes later, they stood outside the elaborate white double-doors of the parlor, staring at each other in dread of opening them up. Arthur placed his ear against the wood, hoping to hear what was happening beyond, but all was silent so he straightened out and took a sweeping look around the main corridor. He could run back up the carpeted staircase right now and hide, or grab Merlin's hand and head out the main door forever. Instead, he steeled himself.

"Are you ready?" he asked Merlin, keeping his nerves out of his tone.

"No," Merlin answered truthfully, but there were trace amounts of bravado in his features.

Arthur gave him a curt nod and pushed his way through to the room, and Merlin stalked closely behind. The first person Arthur saw was his father, standing next to grand fireplace and staring intently into the cold hearth. On the armchair to his right was Morgana, Arthur's older sister, who reacted as soon as she saw her brother. She sat up straighter and met him with wide, sorry eyes that Arthur sincerely hoped would soften Uther like they sometimes did; though, he doubted it would work this time. Standing by the glass table next to the ornate couch was an earthly-looking, brunette woman in a servant's uniform.

"Mother," Merlin gasped in her direction, and her red eyes bore into him for as long as they could before she looked back at the carpet.

Arthur cast her a contrite glance before his eyes flickered imploringly to Morgana, who surreptitiously nodded her support, and finally rested on Uther, whose back was still facing him.

"Father, I understand your anger," Arthur began calmly, knowing it was best to get the first word. It was unlikely he'd get the last.

Uther turned around to face them, and his face might have been made from the same stone of the statues in the gardens. Arthur suddenly forgot every word in his lexicon, and he averted his eyes from the intensity of Uther's glare. He felt like a little boy who had snuck into the kitchens passed his bedtime under that stare.

He physically felt the weight of Uther's gaze leave him, and it focused on Merlin, which knocked Arthur back into his senses. He looked next to him, watching Merlin shuffle under the scrutiny, and he inched closer until their shoulders touched through the fabric of their sleeves. Arthur wished he could reach out and take Merlin's hand in his own, but that would only make matters worse, so this contact would have to do. It seemed to calm Merlin, if only a little.

"I've phoned one of the doctors in my network," Uther spoke at last. He crossed his hands behind his back and paced forward towards the other men. "He has agreed to take you under his care, Mr. Emrys."

Merlin's wide eyes shot up in shock, and Arthur might have sprained his neck in how rapidly he turned it towards his father.

"What? No!" Arthur said, his first instinct being to argue, to defend. He took a step forward without really thinking about it, but Uther did not even look at him. "Father, please listen—"

"He's sending two of his men to collect you as we speak," Uther continued, riding over the rest of Arthur's words. "There will be no need to pack. Everything you need will be provided for you in hospital until you are . . . _cured_ of your affliction."

"_Please_, sir," Merlin begged before Arthur had a chance to speak. His voice was thick. "I can't—I can't leave my mother. And she—we can't afford a hospital. I—"

"Your mother will be cared for," Uther assured him. "I have arranged to pay the bill, and Hunith has agreed to continue working here until the debt is paid."

"And then what?" Arthur countered angrily. "You send her out—leave her on the streets with no money?"

Uther turned away again, and Arthur felt fire in his chest.

"They will have to find other accommodation after the boy returns," he said over his shoulder. "He can't stay here."

To this, Hunith stepped forward.

"Lord Pendragon, if I may?" she said meekly. "He is my only son. Let us go. We'll leave within the hour."

Uther paced towards Hunith and placed a large palm on her boney shoulder. Her frame was even smaller than her son's, but she had never appeared so shrunk than in that moment.

"Have I not always looked out for you, Hunith?" he asked.

She took in a sharp breath and looked down at her shoes. "Yes, sir."

"And I will continue to look after all those in my charge," he promised her. "Your son needs treatment. He is very ill."

"_What_?" Merlin choked out, and Uther's eyes were hard when they swooped back towards him.

Across the room, Morgana sat to attention, her gaze ricocheting back and forth from one party to the next.

"This isn't a _sickness_, Father," Arthur almost yelled. Still, Uther's appalled eyes were on Merlin. It enraged Arthur. "_Look_ at me! If you send him away, you'll have to send me, too!"

At once, Uther turned his glare on Arthur. It made Arthur tense every muscle, but he held his own.

"No," Uther said simply, turning back to the hearth. "This can never come to light. Your treatments will be conducted here, in private—by the finest doctors in England. You and the boy must remain separate, indefinitely."

There was a screech of brakes in the roundabout drive outside the window, but Arthur felt as though all sound had faded to a muffled din, echoing in the crevice of his chest.

"Father—"

It was Morgana who spoke up, but she was quickly silenced.

"This is none of your concern."

"No," Arthur found himself saying. He was marching single-mindedly towards his father now. "You can't do this. I won't let you—"

Behind him, he was somewhat aware that Merlin had rushed to Hunith's side.

"Don't listen to him, Mother, please," he was begging, his hands clutching hers. She had begun to cry silently. "We can leave now. We can go to Uncle Gaius'. _Please_, Mother. Don't let him send me away . . ."

"—He isn't _ill_! Neither am I!" Arthur was shouting. "I _love_ him!"

"How dare you," Uther said, fury shaking his voice as he spun around to face his son. "If your mother could hear you saying such things, what would she think? It would break her heart."

"And you'd rather break mine while I still live?" Arthur yelled back, feeling pressure in his eyes that he would not—_could_ not—set free.

The doors to the parlor opened again, revealing Geoffrey Valiant, the butler, and two large men in white.

"Father, this is rash and you know it," Morgana was saying. At the same time, Arthur continued, "If you think you'll keep him away for long, you're mistaken . . ."

"Arthur—" Merlin kept saying, trying to get Arthur's attention.

The siblings kept talking over one another, and Hunith was crying openly now, until all the sounds of the room melded together and became indistinguishable.

"_Enough_!" Uther boomed, and everything fell silent. "This is not how we act with guests in our home."

He glanced towards the two newcomers and inclined his head towards Merlin.

"Gentlemen, if you'd please."

On his word, the orderlies started for Merlin. One held a firm grip to Merlin's bicep and started leading him towards the door, and Merlin was looking over his shoulder, his beseeching eyes flashing from Arthur to Hunith.

"Mother, please," he tried again, but she kept her eyes to the floor.

"Arthur!"

The cry set Arthur into motion. He ran the length of the room towards Merlin, grabbing his other arm as tightly as he could. Merlin was trembling, but he dug his heels into the carpet, not budging, no matter how hard the orderly pulled.

"I will not leave you for long, I promise," Arthur told him in a hushed tone, standing close. "I will work this out. I will find you."

Tears lined his long lashes, and droplets fell when Merlin nodded fervently.

At this point, the second orderly had grabbed hold of Merlin's shirt, and the two forced him in the direction of the door. Merlin managed to struggle against them for a moment longer, with Arthur's help, in time to say softly, "I _do_ love you. Every day until the day I die."

"Every day," Arthur promised, and he was able to jerk Merlin closer and into a hard kiss until Merlin's lips were ripped away with a whimper in the next moment.

Arthur's fingers slipped from Merlin's arm, and the men shoved him out of the door, and suddenly the reality of it crashed down upon Arthur.

"_Merlin_!" he shouted, meaning to go after him, but he felt Valiant's strong arms holding him back. The man was double Arthur's size, and he couldn't break free.

Hunith buried her face into her palms behind them and Uther sounded very distant to Arthur as he said, "It's for the best."

Arthur elbowed Valiant forcefully in the gut and, in the moment of weakness, tore out of the room and down the main corridor. He flung the door open, causing it to slam heavily into the wall, and he did not stop running until he felt the loose gravel of the drive beneath his shoes. He slowed to a stop, letting his arms swing to his sides, as he realized he was too late.

The car was already turning out of the gate, engine rumbling and wheels kicking up dust as it went.

* * *

Arthur stormed out of his father's study and, once he'd cleared the door into the hallway, balled his fists at his sides and let out a low, frustrated grumble that did nothing to make him feel better. He wished he could scream, rage; but he kept his composure and headed to the parlor, praying it would be empty so that he might have some time alone to think.

When he reached it, he found Morgana lounging, for all the world like Aphrodite might at home atop Mount Olympus, although Arthur would have sooner pegged her as Athena, on the couch with a book in her hands. Arthur found a strange comfort in her presence, so he plopped down on the armchair adjacent to her and sunk deep into thought.

"That bad?" Morgana asked, barely glancing up from her novel as she turned the page.

Arthur, realizing his jaw was visibly tense from grinding his teeth, relaxed his muscles and sat up a little straighter. "Is it that obvious?"

Morgana gave a sigh, placed her book down, and gave her brother her full attention.

"I can try speaking with him again, if you'd like?" she offered, but Arthur shook his head.

"He won't listen," he said. Morgana was the only person who could ever get through to Uther, but even she had only a fifty percent success rate. "You know what he's like."

She nodded solemnly and jutted out her jaw, but said nothing.

"And it's not like I haven't been trying beyond _talking_ to him," Arthur continued, finding a need to justify himself. "I've been looking—but I've only managed to get to two of the hospitals so far, especially with _George_ breathing down my neck every moment of the day." He said the name like it contained venom.

Morgana let out a humorless laugh. "Arthur, father is a beneficiary to almost every hospital in Kent and London. At the rate you're going, you won't find Merlin for _months_."

"You think I don't know that?" Arthur answered harshly and, when he saw the hurt look in Morgana's eyes, he regretted his tone. He let out a tired breath and said, softer now, "It's been a week today . . ."

She nodded. "I realized that," he heard her say as he closed his eyes and fingered at the grooves in the leather armrest.

"I just can't stand the fact that he's out there somewhere as some sort of—_lab rat_," he emoted, removing his index finger from the chair and rubbing at his eye with it. "And Hunith hasn't done anything about it. She's just letting him rot—"

"Now, that's not fair," Morgana reproved him. "She didn't know what else to do."

"I know," Arthur allowed, looking miserable. "It's all my fault."

"_Arthur_," Morgana said, leaning over and placing a comforting hand on his knee. "Don't ever think that."

He snorted. "Easy for you to say," he told her, eyeing the stunning diamond ring on her finger. "You love who you're supposed to love."

"As do you," she said soothingly. "Just because Leon is a man and I'm a woman doesn't make our love any different than yours."

"I know a few of my therapists who would beg to differ," he said dryly.

To this, Morgana looked alert. "Don't you have a session this afternoon?"

He nodded. "In about ten minutes," he informed her, rolling his eyes. "_George_ wouldn't dare let me miss it. He's been keeping me to a very strict routine."

"Well, at least _someone's _listening to the doctors," Morgana joked, and Arthur tried to smirk politely.

Suddenly, something clicked in his brain.

"But who do the _doctors_ listen to?" he thought aloud.

Morgana looked perplexed. "What?"

"Morgana," Arthur started, looking right at her and sitting up straight. "They listen to the hospital beneficiaries—_Father_. He makes visits to the hospitals to make sure the doctors are doing right by him." He felt a little lightheaded at the prospect. "Morgana, Father is going to have to visit Merlin's ward eventually!"

She shook her head in curiosity, even though Arthur was sure she was following. "I don't understand."

"Yes, you do!" he said, but she wasn't giving way. "He takes _you_ on his rounds."

"Not always," she said sheepishly.

"_Make_ it always!" he ordered, and he suddenly realized he wasn't in the right position for this request. Swiftly, he fell out of his chair and landed in front of her on his knees, clasping her hands. "Morgana, I'm _begging _you," he said, scanning her expression. "You have to go with him. You have to find out what hospital Merlin is in. I can't: They barely let me out of the house."

She shook her head. "I don't see what good finding out what hospital—"

"It's a _start_!" he yelled impatiently, but quickly controlled himself and looked up at her imploringly. "Morgana, please."

There was a long pause of drawn out silence, into which the grandfather clock echoed across the room, until she nodded softly. "Okay," she agreed, and Arthur felt a weight lift off his heart. "I will try."

"Thank you," he whispered.

Seconds later, the door of the parlor creaked open, and a very stiff looking man with short hair marched through. Arthur realized he was still kneeling in front of his sister, which must have looked strange, but George did not make it his business. He simply stood upright next to the door.

"Sir, the doctor is here," he reported, and Arthur glared at him with open distaste.

In reality, George was the perfect manservant. He was attentive, doting, professional . . .

Arthur despised him.

He must have been the most boring man on the planet, and Arthur had his suspicions that Uther had deliberately hired someone Arthur would hate.

"I'm coming, _George_," Arthur answered, a bite to his tone, but George barely batted an eyelash to it.

Morgana gave Arthur's hand a quick squeeze, silently promising to keep their secret, before he stood up and pushed passed George into the corridor.

* * *

_2__nd__ April, 1945_

Arthur pulled at his tie, loosening its tight grip around his neck and causing his collar to become dilapidated. Uther shot him a sidelong look of disapproval, and Arthur stood a little straighter and cleared his throat. His eyes were on the doors of the parlor.

"He's five minutes late," he said, his ears heightened to the ticking of the grandfather clock. "He hasn't even started yet and he's already the worst manservant in history."

Uther sighed dejectedly, but he must have been thinking the same because he left his post before the door and crossed the room to the drinks trolley and poured himself a finger of scotch.

"You don't know _what_ kind of manservant he'll be, Arthur," he said in the meantime. "He may be perfectly competent."

Arthur snorted. "I doubt it."

"Keep your mind open," Uther advised, and it wasn't so much words of wisdom as it was a do-what-I-say-or-else. "We don't want a repeat of the last fiasco."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's hardly _my_ fault Jonas smelled to high heavens," Arthur huffed. "In my defense, I asked him to take care of it at least twice. I _had_ to sack him, Father. How could I expect a man to take care of me when he didn't even care for himself?"

Uther seemed to not have heard the speech, because he continued: "_Or_ the one before that."

"Cedric had these _dead_ eyes," Arthur defended, shivering slightly at the memory. "He watched me sleep. It made my skin crawl."

"I couldn't even hold on to a governess for very long with you children," Uther complained, clutching the back of the leather chair in front of him and draining his glass.

"Oh—Catrina was a horrible woman, and I'm not the only one who thought so!" Arthur protested at once. He looked towards the sofa to Morgana for back up, but she seemed unconcerned. She had her nose buried in _Jane Eyre_, which Arthur was certain she'd read at least a dozen times before. He was convinced she was secretly in love with Rochester, and he didn't blame her.

"That _doesn't_ excuse the fact that you drew trolls all over the walls of her bedroom," Uther maintained, but there was the shadow of an amused grin on his face.

"That was _Morgana's_ idea!" Arthur exclaimed, mostly because he was certain Morgana wasn't paying attention.

It seemed he had been wrong, because she dropped the book to her lap and crooned, "It was _not_."

"Fine, but they were _your_ painting supplies," Arthur reposed.

She replied by giving her slyest, one-sided smirk before once more disappearing behind her novel.

"It doesn't matter," Uther decided. "All that matters is that you get along with this boy, Arthur. His father was very good to us. He was the only one who could get you to eat your vegetables as a child."

Arthur let out a heavy sigh but did not argue. Balinor had been the Pendragons' chef all of Arthur's life, until he went to fight in the war a little over two years ago. It had been three weeks since they learned of his death.

"I was very grateful to him, as was your mother, and his wife and child will need steady income now that he's gone," Uther continued. "See that you get along with Balinor's son. You must at least _try_. I'm a very busy man; I don't have time to search for a new manservant for you every time you find fault in one." It was said with such finality that Arthur didn't dare to even think a word against it.

A car had pulled up the drive and, minutes later, the then butler, Aredian, came through to the parlor and announced the arrival of Hunith and Merlin Emrys. The two followed in his wake, both gazing uncertainly around the grand surroundings and clutching their brown suitcases.

"Welcome, Hunith," Uther greeted, a large and political smile on his face as he strode toward the newcomers. He went straight for the woman, small and plain but pretty, and clasped a hand on her shoulder. She smiled warmly up at him. "I trust the journey wasn't too strenuous?"

"No, it went very well, sir, thank you," she said in a sweet voice.

"And this must be Merlin," Uther said, moving to place his palm on Merlin's shoulder and offering the boy his other. Merlin shook it like he didn't quite know what to do with it.

"Yes, it is," Hunith said, smiling at her son with a soft expression that Arthur found himself averting his gaze from. No one had ever looked at him like that. He had never seen the love in his mother's eyes, especially not directed at him; it didn't show in the photographs he'd seen of her.

"Good," Uther said, turning sideways and gesturing towards his children in turn. "This is my daughter, Morgana, and this is Arthur."

It brought Arthur back into the moment, and he fixed Merlin with a hard stare. Uther moved away to give Arthur space to pace over and walk a circle around Merlin, sizing him up. He was gaunt, but not scrawny, with a shock of black hair against porcelain skin, and dark blue eyes that looked indigo, like the star-speckled sky, beneath his lashes in the low light. He must have been around Arthur's age, or maybe a few years younger, and he struck Arthur as something fey-like and enchanting—like some character from the stories Morgana would read to him as child.

But perhaps that was just the ears . . .

Regardless, he didn't smell like Jonas had, so Arthur entertained the thought of this working.

"Tell me, _Mer_lin," Arthur said as he circled back to Merlin's front and folded his arms behind his back. Merlin respectfully did not meet his eyes. "Do you bathe regularly?"

Merlin furrowed a perplexed brow but, before he could even open his mouth, Hunith piped up, "Yes, he's very hygienic."

Arthur nodded and hummed in response. His thoughts turned to Cedric. "And will you give me personal space when I ask it of you?"

"Merlin is ready to follow any orders you have, sir," Hunith said, and Arthur turned his eyes on her in irritated confusion before looking back to Merlin.

"Do you know how to speak, or do you just let _her_ talk for you?" Arthur asked, pointing a lofty finger at Hunith, who fell silent.

However, Arthur must have said something offensive, because Merlin glowered at him directly and snipped, "I _do_ know how to speak. I also know how to use my manners, especially towards a woman."

Arthur's brows darted towards his hairline.

"_Sir_," Merlin added, biting down on the word, half remembering his place and half demonstrating his point. Arthur didn't know whether to be scandalized or impressed, so he kept his expression neutral and scanned Merlin up and down with his eyes. Merlin did not falter beneath the scrutiny.

"Well, now that we all know each other," Uther chimed in, breaking the tension, "Aredian will show you to your rooms—and give you the grand tour."

Hunith thanked him politely and Merlin shot Arthur one last look before they picked up their luggage and followed Aredian back into the hallway. Uther said nothing, but gave Arthur a fleeting, stern look before following them out and heading towards his study.

Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the door, as though it may open again to reveal Merlin, and he hardly realized that Morgana had crept up to his side until she nudged his shoulder with hers.

"So, what do you think?" she asked teasingly, already knowing the answer.

Arthur cast her a glance out of the corner of his eyes before looking straight again.

"I don't like him," he said simply, and made his way out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three.**

Merlin sat next to the window of the recreation room, watching the dark clouds roll over the grounds of the hospital, and the large brick wall surrounding it, and cast shadows on the distant horizon. He couldn't remember the last time he was outside. It must have been a week and a half ago, when he was being admitted to the ward. A week and a half since he'd last seen the sun.

Some movement on the other end of the room caught his eye, and he turned his head slowly away from his reflection to see his orderly—Mordred, as he now knew him—guiding in a very timid and uncertain but familiar face. Her tan, simple dress and black stockings stuck out against the pale colors worn by the staff and patients.

Merlin found his mouth agape as he watched Mordred gesture towards him, pointing Hunith in the right direction.

She gave a weak smile as she wove her way through the room and finally stood next to the table Merlin was occupying.

"Hello, son," she said, trying to sound bright, but her face was lined with worry.

It took Merlin a moment to realize he should probably answer. "Mother," he said dumbly. "Um—sit down."

She looked unsure for a second before pulling out the metal chair across from him and placing herself upon it.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her fingers playing with the hem of her canvas bag. Merlin watched them fidget.

"Fine," he said simply, trying not to sound curt. He was so sick of people asking that question. "Why have you—? Why are you here?" he asked hopefully. Was it possible Arthur had somehow convinced Uther to change his mind, and Hunith was there to collect him?

"To visit you, Merlin," she said, abandoning her bag and taking his hands in hers across the table. They were warm, and the contact made Merlin realize how chilled his fingers were. It made a shiver run down his spine.

"Uther told you where I was?"

"I'm your mother, Merlin," she said, her expression soft. "Of course, he told me."

Merlin cast his eyes to the tabletop. "Did he tell Arthur?" he dared ask.

He heard a sharp inhale from Hunith. "Merlin . . ."

No, he expected not.

"But Arthur's been asking," Merlin said surely, his gaze flickering up to his mother's face. It told him everything he needed to know. "He's even asked you, hasn't he?"

"Please, Merlin, don't question me," Hunith said. "It's best that I didn't tell him."

"At least tell me how he's doing!" Merlin pleaded, tilting his head to the side, leaning in slightly and fixing his mother with his biggest eyes.

"He misses you," Hunith obliged in a small voice. "He barely eats the food prepared for him. He says it's because you didn't make it, but I think he's lost his appetite. He's been very quite, except with Morgana. It's easy to see how much he needs you at his side."

Merlin felt pressure building in his eyes and he blinked it away.

"I need him, too, Mum," Merlin said, trying to appeal to her. "You can get me out of here. Gaius would be more than happy to help you, and Arthur and I can go somewhere, somewhere far away—"

"I didn't come here to talk about this, Merlin," Hunith said, summoning sternness to her tone, but she didn't meet his gaze.

He felt his jaw clamp with anger, and his dark blue eyes flashed.

"Then why _did_ you come?" he snapped, and he immediately regretted it. He understood the troubles he'd put his mother through, but he couldn't stop the mood swings he'd been experiencing since he started treatment.

"I'm sorry," he excused himself, his expression softening. "Mother, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," she cut him off, and he gaped as she collected her bag and stood up. "I'll visit again when I can."

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple, which stung somewhat under the lingering tenderness of the ECT, but he tried not to cringe. He watched her walk back towards Mordred, exchange a few words, and then be led out; and he turned slowly back to the window, listening to the wind rattle the frame, and looking off at the trees in the distance.

* * *

_9__th__ October, 1946  
__Paris, France_

The trees outside were starting to change color, highlighting the park across the window in shades of amber and charcoal. Above them, in the close distance, the Eiffel Tower rose up, its iron shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Merlin could hardly believe this was his life as he stood in front of the French windows in a dressing gown staring at it, and he was eager to see it up close. The pictures he saw of the structure didn't quite capture its grandeur. It was massive and beautifully crafted and the jaded locals on the cobblestone path far below the window didn't even seem to notice; but he supposed they were just better skilled at keeping the romance of being under the Tower's shadow to themselves than he was.

Behind him, two arms snaked around his torso and pulled him in close. Arthur rested his chin in the crook of Merlin's neck, and Merlin eased into the embrace by leaning back slightly and dipping his head to the side so that it touched Arthur's.

"Nice, isn't it?" Arthur said softly, his eyes on the Tower. "You like it?"

"I'd like it better up close," Merlin stressed, not even attempting a subtle hint. "It's why I came here."

"I thought you came here to keep up with my luggage," Arthur joked, and Merlin gave a snort.

"I don't know _how_ your father bought that."

It was a fairly regular occurrence for Uther to attend meetings and medical conferences and, more often than not, they were held in Paris. Less regularly, he would take Arthur and Morgana with him. Arthur described it as a working holiday for his father, but Merlin thought he must have his definition of the word "holiday" skewed. To Merlin, a vacation meant family time. Whether one could afford a trip to another country or simply have a weekend in the neighboring county, it was supposed to be a time for bonding. The Pendragons did it differently. Since they'd gotten to Paris the night before, apart from dinner together, Uther had been attending meetings, Morgana had been shopping, and Arthur . . .

Well, Arthur put the _do not disturb_ sign on his door and hadn't left his hotel room at all.

"Mm, I can be very convincing," Arthur said into Merlin's skin. He pressed his lips to Merlin's neck and sucked lazily, in the same spot Merlin was sure already had a mark, and his fingers tugged at the rope of Merlin's robe.

"No, _no_. Come on, Arthur," Merlin laughed as he tore away from Arthur's lips and spun around in his arms to face him. Arthur was looking at him anxiously, his hair darkened slightly from wetness and his cheeks red from the heat of the shower. Behind him, steam was filtering out of the bathroom on the other side of the room, collecting near the lights on the ceiling before drifting towards the sitting room, where Merlin was technically supposed to be sleeping on the pullout couch during the nights.

"We've been in here all day," he whined as he placed his hands on Arthur's hips, right above the towel. "I want to sightsee. And aren't you _hungry_? I want some French cheese and wine and a croissant. You can spoil me. I'll be grateful for it."

"I know, I'm sorry," Arthur conceded, looking genuine. "But we are in the city of love, after all."

Merlin couldn't stop himself from rumbling with a happy chortle when Arthur tightened his arms and pulled him in closer again.

"Besides, you weren't complaining last night," he went on, looking at Merlin's lips through hooded eyes. "Or this morning . . . or this morning again. Or earlier this afternoon—"

"I get it!" Merlin yelled softly to get him to stop. It was true: they never had days when they could stay in bed all day, and Merlin was happy that the attention was off of them so that they might be allowed to spend the holiday as they wished. On the entire train ride over, Arthur had tormented him by whispering all the filthy things they were going to do as soon as they were alone, and Merlin didn't argue against it in their solitude, when they could ravage each other—_finally_—for as long and as loud as they wanted without having to worry.

Still, when Arthur told him he was going to whisk him off to Paris the day before they left, Merlin was bright eyed at the prospect of seeing another country. He'd never been out of Great Britain before, and he wanted to make the most of it.

"But we're only here another two days and there's so much to do! Not just in Paris. I'd love to see Versailles, you know?"

"We'll do all that," Arthur told him, but Merlin thought it was just to appease him.

"And I want to see the _Mona Lisa_!" he demanded.

"You _will_ see it. We'll go to the Louvre tonight, after dinner," Arthur promised through another kiss, and Merlin decided to believe him.

"Good," he said curtly. "I've got some ideas for that, too."

"Of course, you do," Arthur said dully after Merlin broke free from him and went for the bedside table. Off of it, he picked up a tourist pamphlet he'd found in the airport when they arrived and flipped to the section about the Eiffel Tower.

"There's a brasserie built right into the Tower, apparently. That might be nice to go to," he told Arthur, sitting on the side of the mattress, as Arthur paced towards him and sat down, too.

"That'll be full of tourists, Merlin," he said.

"I _am_ a tourist!" Merlin nagged, dropping the pamphlet into his lap and giving Arthur big eyes.

"Fine," Arthur agreed. "If that's where you want to go, I'll have the concierge book us a table."

"And then the Louvre?" he asked, just to make sure their plan for the evening was clear.

"And then the Louvre," Arthur repeated, and Merlin smirked smugly, happy that he'd gotten his way.

"Now, will you come here?" Arthur moaned, grabbing at the nape of Merlin's neck and leaning in. Merlin responded by hitting him on the nose lightly with the pamphlet.

"It's not a marathon, Arthur!" he said when Arthur looked at him in a mixture of desperation and annoyance that made Merlin feel a twinge of power. "And you said you'd call the concierge."

"I will," he asserted, "but I've got to work up an appetite first."

"Yeah, you liar," Merlin said lightly, but he wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and the springs in the mattress whined softly as Arthur crowded in on him. Merlin had to admit: Arthur _was_ very convincing.

The pamphlet slipped out of his fingers as he dragged Arthur down to the sheets.

* * *

"Is this seat taken?"

A soft voice knocked Merlin out of his daydream, and he looked up at the woman standing to the right of him. The artificial light shined on her dark skin, and her large, kind eyes were the same shade of brown as her loose curls. She wore a smile that was practiced, pushed, and she gestured towards the seat across from Merlin.

"Oh, um," Merlin said, blinking at the chair like he didn't quite understand its purpose. "No. I—Why would it be?"

"Well, that woman here before," the girl said politely as she sat down. "I wasn't sure if she was coming back and—Well, this is my favorite spot in the room."

"Yeah, for the view?" he asked conversationally.

She nodded, casting a glance at the window. "It's nice to see the outside world, even if it is a bit gloomy," she said.

Merlin directed his attention back to the window, and the skies were dark and gray. Thick drops were cascading down the glass, and he hadn't even realized it had started raining.

"I haven't seen you around," he said, taking his eyes off the rain and bringing them back to her.

"No, I've only been here four days—and I've been asleep for most of them," she told him. "How long have you been here?"

He let out a breath of laughter and stared back down at the table. "Too long."

"Here, here," she said a little sadly, and Merlin's eyes flickered back to look at her. He was sure most people in this ward were there against their will but, for some reason, he felt this girl was the only one who really understood his thoughts. It was in her tone and in her eyes.

She bit her lower lip, looking away from him, and he realized he must have been making her uncomfortable with all the staring.

"So—Why are you here?" she asked.

He considered the question, chewing on the inside of his mouth, and said, "I fell in love with the wrong person."

She let out a breath that was somewhere between a hollow laugh and a gasp of realization. "Me, too," she told him, and that sad look shadowed her expression again.

Merlin felt his heart jump at her words.

"My boyfriend—Lance—he . . . He was killed in the war. My brother didn't know what do with me after that. He thinks professional care will help. I know he means well, but . . ." She looked out the window and propped her head up on her hand, tangling her fingers in her locks. Merlin saw her eyes glisten, even though she was turned away from him. "Fate's a cruel thing, isn't it?"

Merlin had to agree, but said nothing.

After a moment, she composed herself and blinked away her tears. "I'm Gwen," she said, extending her hand to him, which he took.

"Merlin."

She let out a surprised laugh, and instantly looked apologetic for it, but it continued. Merlin nodded his head, rolled his eyes, and motioned with his hand, signifying that she should just go ahead and let it out, but to be quick. Anyway, it was nice to see her genuinely smile. It made her eyes gleam, and she had perfect teeth. She was very beautiful when she smiled.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't be. I'm used to it," Merlin said dryly. "My mum must hate me."

She gasped in mortification and shook her head. "Oh, no—don't think—_No_! It's my fault."

Merlin didn't see how his name was any of her fault. After all, she didn't pick it, but he let the comment slide. She was a little scattered, but Merlin found himself liking Gwen.

"She seems like a lovely woman," she continued, collecting her thoughts.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, and she opened her mouth in realization.

"Oh, that—that _was_ your mother, wasn't she?" Gwen checked, blushing. "Only, she seemed like she'd be your mum."

"How long have you been watching me?" he asked sarcastically out of the side of his mouth.

"I wasn't _watching_!" Gwen asserted. "I was just—," she deflated, not having an excuse, "Well, there's not much to watch around here, really."

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. Have you met Gwaine yet? He's very entertaining."

"I'll be sure to look out for him," she laughed, and he found himself laughing, too.

That was until a member of staff, fishing for Gwen's attention, joined them. "Miss Smith?"

Gwen looked up at the woman, who had jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, and her expression fell.

"Yes, Nurse Nimueh?"

"It's time for your treatment," the nurse said, barely glancing up as she ticked something off on a clipboard. "If you'll come with me?"

"Oh, um—"

Gwen cast Merlin an apologetic, and slightly terrified, look as she stood up.

"First treatment?" Merlin guessed, and Gwen nodded. He couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt that he couldn't help her get out of it somehow. "Good luck," he settled on, giving her a brave face.

"Thanks," she said, mimicking his expression. "I'll see you around, Merlin."

"Yeah, probably. We have the same favorite spot."

He watched until Gwen and Numueh disappeared from the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

_24__th__ September, 1945_

He stormed out of the front door, still able to hear the music and chatter wafting from within, full of people he hardly knew and didn't care about. The night was cool, but his cheeks were flushed red with anger and he tore at the tie choking his neck until it was loose.

He was stomping along the line of empty cars parked in the roundabout when the door opened again, and running footsteps could be heard bouncing down the porch steps.

"Arthur!"

Arthur ignored the call and continued walking purposefully to the side of the house, where his car waited patiently for him. It's maroon color tinted by the night, the Lincoln Continental looked more like a beacon of solitude and warmth than a vehicle; at least, it did in that moment. He'd bought the car when it was new in the summer of forty-one, but it still ran the same as did back then. Arthur made sure of that. He wouldn't allow anyone else to touch the car or its engine. He took care of her personally.

"Arthur, _stop_!" Merlin was calling persistently as he pursued Arthur to the side of the manor.

"Go away, Merlin," Arthur commanded from over his shoulder as he took out the jingling car keys from his pocket.

"No," Merlin answered, hardheaded as ever, and it made Arthur round on him.

"Why are you following me?" Arthur demanded. "You really are the _worst_ manservant in history. When I tell you to do something, you do it. When I tell you to leave me alone—"

"I follow you to make sure you don't swerve off into a ditch in anger!" Merlin shouted back.

Arthur let out a frustrated noise and showed Merlin his back. He pushed down on the button that released the door latch and slid into the driver's seat; but before he could so much as kick the engine into life, he saw Merlin climbing into the passenger's side.

"_What_ do you think you're doing?" Arthur said as Merlin slammed the door closed. "Get out."

"No," Merlin said again, defiant. "I'm coming with you."

Arthur wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "_Why_?"

"Because you're a pillock," Merlin told him matter-of-factly, "and a brat. You—You're a _prat_! And I'm coming with you."

Arthur let out a bitter snort, but he put the car into gear. He just wanted to get out of there.

"Suit yourself," he said. "Just be quiet."

And Merlin was. He sat silently as Arthur tore out of the gate and sped down the road until they were far beyond the reach of the town's lights. Arthur was driving on autopilot, and he came to when he realized they were weaving through an unfamiliar country road, having no real memory of driving there. Nor could he remember what words and emotions spun through his mind when he was lost in thought. He supposed he had been thinking _something_ all this time, but it was lost to him now.

He glanced over at Merlin, who was slouching next to him and staring blankly ahead, apparently unaware of the eyes on him. Arthur was right: He really was the most awful servant of all time, not just because he didn't follow orders. He overslept almost every morning, he talked back and argued with Arthur, he simply refused to wear the normal manservant uniform in preference of his own clothes; he was lazy, unprofessional, insolent, and extraordinarily intolerable.

And yet, it never crossed Arthur's mind to sack him. Because Merlin took care of him when Arthur stumbled in drunk after a night of partying. He knew a plethora of home remedies—that actually worked!—when Arthur was feeling ill. He wasn't afraid to put Arthur in his place when his ego got to big, which Arthur would never admit he was grateful for. He was loyal and Arthur trusted him explicitly. He made Arthur laugh, even when he thought he'd never smile again. And he hummed when he did up Arthur's tie for him at the start of every day.

Arthur didn't know why he was so fond of all those things, but he felt an empty space inside of him without them each time Merlin had to leave his side for chores or whatever else. Merlin was more dedicated to him than anyone Arthur had ever known, despite how intolerable Arthur could be himself.

Merlin must have felt his stare, because he slowly turned his head towards Arthur, blinking into the silence. In a moment of clarity, Arthur realized that his eyes had been off the road for too long, so he looked front and located a grassy patch on the side of the road. He pulled off into it, the brakes of the Continental whining as the wheels slowed to a halt. Arthur put the car into park.

They sat in silence for a long time until Merlin broke it by asking, "Why did your father say those things?"

"He was drunk," Arthur said, still facing forward with his hands clutching the wheel.

"No, why did he say those things _in particular_?" Merlin clarified, swiveling his body around and stretching his arm out on the top of the seat to face him. Arthur suddenly felt embarrassed under Merlin's searching gaze. "It's your birthday, and he's going off about your mother's death?"

When Arthur didn't respond, Merlin shook his head.

"Why does he blame you for it?"

Arthur gave him a sidelong warning glare. "Merlin—"

"I'm not saying _I_ think that," Merlin said on the offensive, trying to put Arthur at ease. "I'm just asking."

"It's none of your business," Arthur told him with automatic hostility.

Merlin dropped his shoulders with a sigh and faced forward again. It made Arthur regret his tone.

"She died giving birth to me," he said after a pause, and Merlin turned his attention back to the driver's seat. "I always thought my father blamed me for her passing—just in the way he would look at me sometimes. He never said, of course, but whenever I tried to discuss her . . ."

Arthur shook his head at the thought of it.

"And then tonight—" he continued after the pause. "I suppose now I know for certain. And he's right. I . . . It was my fault."

"No, it wasn't," Merlin told him at once. "You had no control over it. She would have traded her life for yours, I know it."

Arthur chuckled at Merlin. "You didn't even know her."

"Doesn't matter," said Merlin. "She was your mother."

"And he's my father," Arthur said, though he was grateful for Merlin's optimism. For someone who was usually so practical and realistic, Merlin's outlook in life could sometimes border on the positive. It always touched Arthur when Merlin spoke like that, but he couldn't believe it in this case. "Sometimes I think he'd be happier if she lived—and I wasn't born." When Merlin took a breath to protest, Arthur stopped him by saying, "Don't try to deny it. I've known it's true for a long time," and Merlin closed his mouth, apparently at a loss for words.

Arthur never thought he'd see the day.

"I've never told anyone that," Arthur realized out loud, and a warm smile spread onto Merlin's face.

"Your secret's save with me," he assured.

"Of course, it is," Arthur shot back. "Who do _you_ have to tell?"

"It's the thought that counts," Merlin laughed, and they chuckled until Arthur's face fell and his eyes fell to his lap.

They were quiet again for some time, but Arthur didn't need words. He felt oddly comforted by Merlin's presence. He was happy Merlin was there.

"We don't have to go back, you know?" Merlin told him, tilting his head down in a failed attempt to catch Arthur's gaze. "Not tonight. We could find somewhere to stay until morning—or whenever you're ready."

"No," Arthur decided, though it was tempting. "No, Merlin, I have to face him eventually."

Merlin seemed to understand this. "I'll be with you as you do," and it wasn't so much of an offer as it was a promise.

Arthur looked up at Merlin in something close to shock. He hadn't expected Merlin to say that, and yet he knew he would. Chewing on the inside of his mouth to fight back his emotion, Arthur nodded stiffly and put the car back into drive.

* * *

Arthur jabbed at Morgana's ribcage with a grunt, but she moved to the side to avoid the blow, and he was unbalanced for only a moment. He managed to regain his composure just in time to block one of her thrusts, and the movements made her take a few steps backward. He followed her closely, slashing his foil through the air so quickly it whooshed.

"Arthur," she urgently said from behind her mask, but he wasn't listening and his arms moved without conscious effort. All he saw were blotches of white, blinding against the afternoon sun.

At once, he felt Morgana shove him away forcefully, making him fall back a few steps.

"You do know this is just for _sport_, right?" Morgana said agitatedly as she tore off her helmet and tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder.

Arthur removed his headgear, too, and placed it under his arm.

"I apologize," he told her, staring down at the lawn beneath his shoes.

She moved closer to him and fished for his eyes. "Where did you go?" she asked in a whisper so that Sefa, Morgana's maid, who was standing along the bushes next to the walkway, wouldn't hear.

"I was just_ thinking_, Morgana," Arthur snapped, and he tore off his padded gloves and stalked off to the garden table for his glass of water.

"Well, try not to think too much, dear brother, you'll hurt someone," Morgana chided as she followed in his wake, "probably yourself."

"Very funny," he said humorlessly before plucking the lemon slice off the top of the glass and chucking it to the grass. He downed the contents in one go.

He was honestly shocked when he didn't mistakenly crush the glass in his tense grip, but he managed to set it back down on the table in one piece. He had been desperately on edge for the past two weeks and, having been off the property under George's watchful eyes only a handful of times, he was beginning to climb the walls.

The therapists that Uther had hired apparently convened and created a strict routine for Arthur. They all decided it was best he keep busy, and George was tasked with making sure he stuck to the regimen, although that part was never exclusively said. Still, he made sure Arthur met with the doctors on time, gave Arthur his prescribed medication almost every other hour, and herded Arthur off to any pointless activities planned for the day. Every morning, not a moment late, he was woken at seven, and he was expected to be fast asleep by eleven at night; and he wasn't left without supervision for a single moment in between.

It was all very tedious, and Arthur was sure his blood pressure was as high as the clouds at this point. He couldn't wait to roam free again, to get out of the manor for good and find Merlin.

"Have you found the hospital yet?" he asked, dropping his voice.

Morgana kept a pleasant smile on her face for appearances.

"It's only been a week, Arthur. Father doesn't go to _every_ hospital _every_ day," she told him, eliciting a heavy sigh from Arthur.

"But you're looking?"

"Of _course_!" she snipped. "Try not to kill me during fencing practice and maybe I'll be of more help."

He rolled his eyes and, in doing so, found Dull George advancing up the lawn towards them—_just_ when Arthur was beginning to enjoy his absence.

"Looks like the Gestapo's found me," he didn't bother to mutter to Morgana, who stifled a laugh, as George approached.

"Sir," he said, his posture becoming stiff as board when he stopped walking an arm's length away. Arthur raised a brow, wondering if George would salute him next. Instead, he held out a neatly folded piece of paper in his hand, offering it to Arthur.

"For you," George said shortly, and then cast a respectful look at Morgana, "and the Lady."

"Thank you, George," Morgana said politely, most certainly beating Arthur to it, as Arthur opened the note. He instantly recognized the embroidering on the paper as that from Uther's personal stationary.

"What does it say?" Morgana asked, trying to read over Arthur's shoulder, after George bowed away.

"Father wants us to join him for dinner tonight," Arthur reported. "Says we're having guests."

"Guests?" Morgana inquired, wrinkling her nose. "Who?"

"I suppose we'll find out," Arthur said, flicking the invitation onto the table next to his empty glass. "Dinner is at seven-thirty."

* * *

By the time dinner rolled around, Arthur was still in his room, trying and failing to tie his own tie in front of the full-length mirror.

"Sir, if I may be of assistance?" George offered, appearing at Arthur's side.

Before Arthur could protest, George was standing before him and reaching for the fabric hanging loosely on Arthur's neck. He swatted the hands away.

"I've got it," he said, and George didn't even sigh as he left Arthur to it.

Eventually, the garment was fastened—_well enough, anyway _—and Arthur looked down at his watch, realizing he was running five minutes later than expected. Before he could move, George spoke up again.

"Sir, your medication," he said, bringing over a silver tray, on top of which were a glass of water and two bright blue pills.

"What for this time?" Arthur asked drearily, picking up the pills and placing them into his palm. He looked down at them like they were toxic.

"Anxiety, sir."

"Right, well, you might want to give me the whole bottle, then," Arthur said, popping the pills into his mouth and taking a sip of the water.

"Very humorous, sir," George said expressionlessly when Arthur set the glass back down on the tray. When he moved away, Arthur rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror, thankful that at least his own reflection agreed with him.

Minutes later, he was walking into the dining room, with its long, polished table covered with a red tablecloth and decorated with large rose centerpieces and candelabras. Five of the dozen cushioned chairs were occupied, and six had places set. As Arthur entered the room, Uther, at the head of the table, pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Son, how nice it is for you join us," he said with the façade of delight. Arthur knew it was only a mask put on for the guests. Uther had been far too aloof these past weeks.

On either side of him, the four others stood up to greet Arthur. Morgana stood next to Leon, who Arthur was happy to see. Across from them stood a noble looking, white haired man in a smart suit; and next to him was a small brunette woman who was the living embodiment of elegance. She met Arthur's eyes from across the room and gave him a soft, warm smile.

"Rodor, if I might introduce my son, Arthur," Uther said as Arthur politely made his way towards the man and shook his hand.

"Arthur, this is my colleague, Rodor," Uther continued.

"Nice to meet you," Arthur lied. In truth, he was rather apathetic.

"And this is his daughter, Mithian," Uthur finished, gesturing towards the beautiful girl. Arthur turned to her as she offered him the top of her hand.

"Good to meet you," she said sweetly, "Arthur."

"And you," Arthur told her, gingerly taking her fingers in his and kissing her hand. She beamed back at him.

As Arthur walked around the table to sit next to his sister, everyone took their seats once more. Immediately, the doors to the kitchen swung open and the waiters began removing the decorative plates from in front of them to put down the first course. Someone snuck up next to Arthur and filled his glass with red wine.

"As I was saying, Morgana," Uther stated, ignoring the help, "Rodor oversees many hospitals in Birmingham." He turned his eyes away from his daughter to look at the man next to him. "Morgana is very interested in our work. She often follows me to the wards to interact with the patients and staff."

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Rodor said exuberantly, toasting his glass towards Morgana. "Isn't it heartwarming when children take an interest in their parents' affairs?"

"Indeed, it is," Uther agreed.

"And, what of yourself, Arthur?" Rodor asked as they all took spoonfuls of the butternut squash soup uncovered before them. "What interests you?"

Arthur took a sip of his wine to bide himself some time. How could he say that the only work he was truly passionate about was fixing the engine of his car? Surely, admitting that would be a mistake, and it would do nothing to help Uther's temper. He sorely disapproved of Arthur's hobby—or, as Uther called it, servant's work.

"International business," Arthur told him.

"Arthur studied the subject in Cambridge," Uther jumped to say.

_Arthur hated every minute of it_, Arthur thought bitterly but dared not say.

"Oh, a businessman! Do you hear that, my girl?" Rodor exclaimed, and Mithian gave an attentive smile. "Very level-minded. Good work, good work. Your boy must be very smart, Uther." He looked to Morgana, toasting her again. "And your daughter, so beautiful!"

Arthur almost choked on his soup. Morgana was, indeed, stunning, but he knew how much she hated it when people only saw that beauty. In fact, Morgana had more of a head for business and negotiation than Arthur ever did. She even wrote most of his term papers for him just for the sheer fun of it. Still, she put on her poker face, which she learned early on that she must wear.

"Oh, thank you very much," she said, sounding both modest and flattered, and smiled at the compliment.

"And the fiancé," Rodor inquired, turning his attention to Leon, "what did you study, my boy?"

Leon cleared his throat softly and said, "Business, actually. Uh, Arthur and I met at Cambridge. I was a few years before him, but we became friends. That's how I was introduced to Morgana in the first place."

"Again, I apologize," Arthur joked as he took another sip of wine, eliciting laughter from the table.

"Is the wedding soon?" Mithian asked Morgana.

"Oh, Heavens, no!" Morgana laughed. "We're only recently engaged. There's so much planning to do until then, but we're considering a winter date."

She and Leon exchanged a glance and folded their hands together between them on the tabletop. Arthur looked at them in a mixture of happiness and jealousy. He found his eyes sweeping the room, searching for the one he could share wistful glances with or fill his eyes with a secret fire; but there was only a shadow in the place Merlin might have stood. As he brought his eyes back to the table, he noticed Mithian looking at him peculiarly, but he did not linger on her.

"I assume you both are only visiting for dinner tonight?" Rodor was asking Morgana and Leon.

"I am," Leon said. "Morgana has decided not to live in my family's manor just yet."

"Oh?" Rodor asked, sounding confused.

"She's very independent. It's one of the many reasons I love her," Leon compliment, bringing forth a thankful noise from Morgana.

"Yes, we're holding off until after the wedding, when we've bought a home of our own," Morgana explained. "I'm afraid, if I'm to live under anyone else's roof, I'll only allow it to be the one I grew up in."

"And I'm very happy to have her for as long as I can," Uther interjected.

"No doubt," Rodor agreed before turning back to the couple. "Where are you planning to buy property?"

"Kent will always be our home," Leon answered, his apprehension masked well as his eyes flickered to Uther, who nodded approvingly. Arthur noticed Morgana tense slightly at this.

"Well, if you ever want to get away from this old man," Rodor joked, clapping a hand on Uther's shoulder, "Birmingham's doors will always be open to you."

"We'll certainly keep that in mind," Morgana said, covering her consideration with a polite chuckle.

The topic changed to the hospital business, and Uther and Rodor dominated the conversation with interjections from Morgana whenever she could get a word in edgewise. Arthur tried not to look too bored, but it was quite hard to not nod off into his lobster tail.

After desert, the conversation was moved to the parlor, and Arthur distanced himself in the armchair while Uther, Rodor, Morgana, and Leon chatted. Eventually, Arthur spotted Mithian standing next to large window on the far end of the room, staring up at the night sky beyond it. Hoping she was more entertaining than her father, he silently slipped out of his chair and left the conversation behind to stand next to her. At first, she didn't seem to notice his presence, too mesmerized by the starry night, and Arthur awkwardly twirled the stem of his champagne glass.

"You seem very quiet," he said after a few moments, and Mithian brought her gaze back to Earth to look at him. She smiled a little breathlessly.

"Yes, I'm sorry," she said, looking down sheepishly. "It's just, you didn't look like you wanted my company."

"Oh." Arthur at once felt a surge of guilt. He supposed he wasn't being a very good host. "Don't apologize. It's my fault. Honestly, it's not you. I just—"

"Have a lot on your mind?" Mithian guessed, a grin spreading across her thin features, and Arthur met them with his own smile.

"I suppose," he said, clearing his throat and turning his attention to the sky. She followed his lead. "Do you stargaze often?"

"Oh, _no_," she laughed. "Well, not in any official manor. I love them, and I've read so many books on the constellations—where they are, how they came to known. But, no—Father says it's better to fill my head with other things."

"Like what?" Arthur wondered.

She shrugged lightly, but there was sadness in her eyes. "He wasn't very specific, I'm afraid."

Arthur gazed at her with sympathy, nodded, and asked, "Which constellation is your favorite?"

"Orion," she said with a dreamy smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Would you like to hear to story of how it came to be?" When Arthur nodded, she continued, "He was in love with a woman named Metrope, the daughter of King Oenopion. Time and time again, Orion asked the King for his daughter's hand, but he was denied each time.

"To get rid of Orion, Oenopion called upon the god, Dionysus, who casted Orion into a deep sleep. When Orion finally awoke, he found he was blind, but an oracle told him he must go east and let the sun shine upon him, and he'd be cured. After he'd done this, he fled to Crete, where the goddess of the moon, Artemis, fell for him. For the whole summer, she could think of nothing but her love for him, so much so that she failed to light the night sky.

"The other gods didn't approve of her love, so one night, while Orion went for a swim in the sea, Artemis was challenged by the gods to shoot a speck in the ocean with her bow; but, without the light of the moon, she could not see that the speck was her beloved. She killed him, but committed his body to the stars so that he may forever dominate the northern skies."

Arthur searched the pinpricks of light for the constellation, but all he saw were scattered blips.

"That's a very beautiful story. Thank you," he told her. "Which—which one is it?"

She leaned in and pointed upwards, tracing the figure in the air like she was connecting the stars. "There," she said.

"There?" Arthur wondered, leaning closer to her to get into her line of vision and pointing up with her.

"That's right," she said happily. "No one's ever been interested in this before—at least, no one whom I've spoken to."

Arthur dropped his shoulders, still looking up at Orion as though he were afraid to lose it. Finally, he met her gaze and said, "Would you like to see it a little closer?"

She brightened considerably at this.

* * *

Arthur had some of the servants set up the antique telescope from Uther's study on the front lawn, instructing them to find a place as far away from the glow of the manor's light as possible. There, on the edge of the trees, Mithian was bent down, holding her loose hair back, as she peered through the lens at the stars that formed Orion.

"Oh, it's _beautiful_," she said after a few moments, standing up and exuberantly clapping her hands before her lips. "Simply beautiful!"

Arthur found himself beaming. "I'm glad you enjoy it."

She did not respond, but gazed at him with soft eyes. He suddenly felt awkward under the look and busied himself by peering through the telescope.

"Do you believe the story of Orion?" he asked her after a few beats of contented silence.

"No, I don't think so," she chortled. "It's only a story—a nice story, though. Honestly, they're only stars—one being completely separate from the other. People just like to find patterns in things."

Arthur found himself agreeing as he straightened out, swapping the telescope for his naked eye.

"What _do_ you believe is up there, then?" he questioned. "If not ancient Greeks, I mean."

She considered for a moment before responding, "It's hard to say. There's so much vastness amongst the stars. We only know a fraction of what's happening up there, and I don't expect we'll ever know everything there is to know." She turned to him. "What do _you_ think is there?"

Thinking on this, he said, "Some people would say God is up there, looking down on us—as are all those we've lost."

"Yes, but I asked what _you_ believe," said Mithian, giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder.

"I'm not quite sure," he answered honestly. "Peace, I hope. Somewhere to be free."

He found she was looking at him as though seeing him for the first time.

"A man like yourself, I would have thought you'd have everything you'd ever need in Camelot Manor."

"Perhaps once," he said, smiling bitterly. "Not anymore."

"I understand," she answered, quite unexpectedly, and dipped her head back to the telescope.

* * *

Over an hour later, Mithian and her father left, and Morgana bid them goodnight with a yawn, leaving the Pendragon men alone in the parlor. Arthur wanted to duck away to his bedroom as quickly as possible, because moments alone with Uther had been more than tense as of late; however, Uther was grinning jovially and clapped a hand to his son's shoulder.

"You and Mithian seemed to be getting along quite well," he said cheerfully.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "She's a very intriguing woman. I think she and I could be good friends."

"Excellent, that's excellent, son," Uther beamed. "Her father is quite an influential man," he added, and Arthur briefly pondered how one thought led to the other.

"Yes," he said again, a bit unsurely.

Uther gave Arthur's shoulder one last squeeze and a pat before releasing it.

"I'm glad you two have gotten on. I expect we'll be seeing quite a lot of them in the future," he said simply, and that must have been his goodnight because he strode out of the parlor without another word.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five.**

_2__nd__ April, 1946_

Beams of sunlight peeked through the cracks of the old garden shed as Merlin gazed along the walls, where tools hung by nails on the backboard over the cluttered workbench, and the iron shelving units that housed cleaning supplies and metal boxes. He let out a huff. He had come here for a particular purpose, but the thing he was looking for was nowhere in sight.

Behind him, the wooden door creaked open, and Merlin squinted into the sudden light that filled the cramped space. A silhouette filled out the threshold and it wasn't until he blinked rapidly to adjust to the light did he realize it was Arthur.

"What are you doing in here?" Arthur asked, and Merlin might have asked him the same question. This was a servants' shed. Then, as the door swung closed again and Arthur pushed into the small space, Merlin saw a red toolbox gripped in his hands. Arthur was dressed in a blue tie, slacks, and a crisp white shirt, whose sleeves were rolled up—_again_, like he didn't know it was entirely unfair—but Merlin knew what that toolbox meant.

"Just couldn't stay away?" he teased as Arthur shelved the box.

"She needed an oil change," Arthur said from over his shoulder. "No time like the present. And you still haven't answered my question. Don't tell me you're secretly a master gardener now?"

Merlin snorted. "Afraid not. But I've always wanted to learn how to snip a hedge into an elephant shape," he said, mindlessly picking up a pair of hedge trimmers from the work bench and snipping them open and closed as though to punctuate his sentence. Setting them back down, he continued, "No, Mum sent me here to find her a mop. But I can't—seem—to find one."

He spun around in place as he spoke, giving the shed a once over.

When he turned forward again, lines of light were painting Arthur's face, and he was rolling his eyes. "Merlin," he said impatiently, turning to the shelving he was standing next to and picking up the wooden handle of the mop that was leaning against it. In Merlin's defense, it blended in.

"Oh," Merlin said dumbly. "Right."

"It's called looking with your eyes. You should try it some time," Arthur told him, offering him the mop.

When Merlin paced closer to relieve him, he noticed a black smudge on the white of Arthur's collar.

"Ugh. Do you have any idea how hard that's going to be to get out?" Merlin groaned, setting the mop to the side. He licked his thumb and worked on rubbing the stain out, but it only worsened it. With a sigh, he saw the same oil trailing up the side of Arthur's neck. He wet his finger again and massaged the oil until it blended back into milky white.

He smiled at his handiwork. "There," he said, but when he glanced back up, Arthur was looking at him as though he were in a daze. Merlin knitted his brows together questioningly. "What?"

Slowly, Arthur reached up and cupped Merlin's cheeks with both hands, stroking the curve of the bones with his thumbs, and Merlin closed his eyes into the touch. He let Arthur tilt his head towards him and place a soft kiss to his lips, and Merlin could smell petrol on his skin.

"You do realize it's been one year since we met?" Arthur said when the kiss broke, and Merlin nodded.

"Actually, I did," he said. "I didn't think you did, though. Didn't peg you for such a hopeless romantic."

A smirk played on Arthur's lips. "There are a number of things you don't know about me."

To this, Merlin tilted his head incredulously. "Arthur, I launder your pants. I don't think there's anything I don't know—"

Arthur grabbed the collar of Merlin's shirt and pulled him in hard, smashing their lips together with such unexpected force that it caused Merlin to stumble back into the workbench with Arthur still attached. And, for a moment, he forgot their current location, in a rickety old shed prone to the usual servant traffic, and wrapped his arms tightly around Arthur's neck to pull him in closer.

Arthur was kissed hungrily, like he didn't care that their teeth kept knocking together or that Merlin could feel wetness layering his chin. Once Merlin's tongue was exhausted and his lips swollen red, Arthur skated his way down to his jaw, nibbling a mark into its base that Merlin would have to think of a pretty good excuse for. None immediately came to mind, and the reality of their situation overcame him.

"Arthur—Arthur, someone's going to come in," he panted.

Arthur merely hummed in response, and the vibration against his skin caused Merlin's eyes to roll to the back of his head.

"A—Arthur," he swallowed hard. It was hard to protest with Arthur doing such wonderful thing with his tongue, and it didn't take too much convincing for Merlin to give in.

He pressed one hand to the nape of Arthur's neck, clutching at the thin blonde hairs on it, and snaked the other down to grope at the curve of Arthur's ass. Arthur's hands were digging into Merlin's sides, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his hipbones. Soon, the pressure decreased, and Merlin felt his shirt being untucked from his trousers. Arthur's hands flew to his belt next, and Merlin had to forcibly remove his lips from Arthur, who chased them until Merlin leaned back too far.

"What are you—?" Merlin tried to ask, but Arthur interrupted.

"I want these off," he demanded, managing to unbuckle the belt and rip it out of Merlin's belt loops before discarding it on the floor.

"Arthur, wait. _Arthur_!" Merlin shouted for his attention, and Arthur paused long enough to look at him in shocked perplexity. When Merlin knew he had his full attention, he asked carefully, "Are you _sure_?"

Of course, Merlin had thought of this almost once a day—sometimes twice. It was difficult, to say the least, to wake Arthur each morning, watching him pad around tiredly with the bare skin of his torso and the blonde hairs matting his chest exposed. It was all Merlin could do to stop himself from reaching out a hand to Arthur's forearm, and it was even harder to not wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night when he dreamed about it.

They'd fooled around before, yes, but Merlin knew they couldn't take it further than making out and desperate groping; because, if they did, that would just be _it_. Merlin would completely succumb to the delusion that Arthur wouldn't one day put an end to all this to marry some beautiful, wealthy woman and have dozens of children while Merlin was forgotten—a shadow of a past memory. That, of course, would happen eventually, and Merlin wasn't sure he could stop himself from losing his wits if things got too serious.

Still, he dreamed. Perhaps he didn't dream about it happening in a garden shed, but reality usually has a way of delivering the unexpected.

"Because, _this_—" Merlin let out a breath of speechless laughter, hoping it would eloquently describe his thought process, but he thought somehow it must have fallen short. But Arthur seemed to get the message, and he looked almost hurt.

"Do you know how mad it makes me when I see someone else look at you?" he said in a low, intimate voice. "How angry I feel when someone can _openly_ look at you like that and I . . ." There was a quick intake of breath, bitter and thoughtful. "Like Sefa."

"Sefa?" Merlin wondered. "No—I. I don't have any interest in Sefa and she—"

"She fancies you," Arthur said surely. "I know you're oblivious enough not to see it, but it makes me . . ."

Merlin quirked an amused brow. "Jealous?"

Arthur nodded, and his eyes flickered back to Merlin's. "And you've been jealous, too. I've seen it—whenever a girl approaches me in a pub. All those banquets and balls when I have someone else on my arm."

Merlin found he was no longer able to meet Arthur's gaze, because it was true. His heart sank more times in the past year than it ever had before. He thought it might one day break.

"If there was a way to tell you how much I wish you were the one I was dancing with . . ." Arthur said, leaning in to press a tender kiss to Merlin's cheek. "If there was some way to tell you I'm yours."

Merlin felt almost numb with happiness. He wasn't sure when exactly a smile had erupted onto his face, but it was there. He bit at his bottom lip in consideration, certain that this was a bad idea but coming up with no reasons why that was so.

"And who said I'm yours?" he teased, and a look of controlled terror filled Arthur's blue gaze. And that was it. That look was all Merlin needed to know Arthur's words were true.

Maybe it was so that one day Arthur would have to go but, in that moment, he was pressed tightly against Merlin's body, and that moment was all they had.

Before Arthur could fully realize that Merlin had been joking, Merlin pulled him in closer again and they eased into quick, frantic kisses as fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers and layers were banished to the forgotten corners of the shed.

Arthur hoisted Merlin on top of the workbench, and Merlin wrapped his legs around Arthur's to pull him in closer. Arthur was running his fingers into the grooves of Merlin's ribcage, massaging the bone and relaxing tense muscles, before his hands slid along Merlin's breast plate. The spaces between his fingers caught on Merlin's nipples on their way up, and Merlin broke the kiss again.

"Hang on, have you actually ever been with another man before?" he asked curiously, and Arthur suddenly looked coy. He stammered, and Merlin couldn't stop himself from chortling. "You _do_ know where to put it?"

"Shut up, _Mer_lin!" Arthur defended.

Merlin chuckled again. He grabbed Arthur's hands, which had fallen to his sides, at the wrists and guided them over to rest on Merlin's hipbones. "It's alright," he soothed, running his hands over the tops of Arthur's. "You'll be a worthy pupil, and I'll be an excellent teacher."

"Oh, is that right?" Arthur said sarcastically, licking his lips as he stared down at Merlin's.

"Yes," Merlin answered seriously. "Now, come on. Let's assess where you are."

He could hardly end the sentence before Arthur jumped on him again, as though eager to prove himself. Merlin reached between them and ran his fist along Arthur's arousal, alternating his pace until it was hot and pressed against his stomach and Arthur was grunting and emitting overwrought noises into his prickled skin.

Merlin felt himself bulging as Arthur rubbed his fingers deep enough into Merlin's outer thighs to cause bruising. He brushed his lips across Merlin's collarbone and angled Merlin's neck to nuzzle his nose into its crook and nibble at the tender skin.

Everything else ceased to exist except for Merlin's heaving breaths, filling the small space, and the streams of sun highlighting Arthur's sweat-sleeked skin. Merlin's palms explored the muscles of Arthur's back, slithering down the curve of his spine and every protruding vertebra. He didn't mean to sink his fingernails so deep into Arthur's ass, just as the hitching gasp was involuntary, but Arthur had ducked down and was sucking on Merlin's nipple until the skin around it was pink and hard.

"Oh, _fuck_, Arthur," Merlin groaned, reaching a hand down to his own erection.

"Not _yet_," Arthur said gruffly, obliviously having misinterpreted Merlin's meaning. He pried himself away, just a step backwards, and ran his eyes up and down Merlin's exposed, pulsing body, seeming satisfied. Merlin took the time to ogle Arthur, too. He took in his dilated eyes, his plush lips, the way sweat stuck his bangs to his forehead, and every glistening, glowing inch of his body from head to toe. He felt colder without it pressed up against his, so Merlin reached for Arthur's hand and tugged him back in.

Minutes were lost in the tangling of tongues and biting of lips. Moist, heavy breaths reverberated around them whenever they came up for air, when Arthur still clutched onto him tightly and Merlin grabbed handfuls of golden hair.

Arthur yanked Merlin to standing position again and turned him over to face the workbench. As he crushed his lips along Merlin's shoulders, his fingers moved further downward until they found their way inside. It caused Merlin to gasp hoarsely, his knees shaking in threats to give out and there was _no way_ Arthur had never done this before. He had to have been lying.

"Have you got something?" Arthur asked into Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin was in such a daze that he didn't understand what Arthur was talking about for a moment.

After he'd caught on, he shook his head and said, "No. No, I don't exactly carry lubricant around with me, Arthur."

"Then, what?" Arthur asked, sounding a little crestfallen. "There's got to be something. You're the expert."

Merlin gave a throaty chuckle at the prospect as he rested his head against the nape of Arthur's neck. "I've got a bright idea," he said, sliding his hand roughly down Arthur's arms and grabbing him at the wrists. He enveloped himself in those arms and leveled Arthur's upturned palms close beneath his chin before spitting into them.

"You've _got_ to be joking," Arthur said skeptically, and Merlin laughed again.

"This or nothing," he teased before bringing Arthur's hands closer and sucking on the skin of his inner wrist. It caused Arthur to let out a distraught sound, and he withdrew his hands from Merlin and spit into them a few times himself.

Merlin let out a yell when Arthur entered him, but he quickly stifled it by clasping his palm to his mouth, just in case anyone was toiling in the gardens nearby. Beneath his palm, his mouth stayed open in a silent scream of pleasure, but Arthur was apparently a lot less worried about making noise.

"Oh, god, Merlin," he called as their bodies worked into a harmony that made the contents of the workbench rattle, and Merlin sincerely hoped the wall behind it was sturdy enough.

As it turned out, Arthur was a good student after all, because he reached around and stroked Merlin with the same technique Merlin had used before, and soon not even biting down on his fist could muffle Merlin's shouts. His stamina failed him shortly after, and his back was arching towards Arthur's chest, and Arthur was nuzzling his face between Merlin's shoulder blades and breathing his name. Only his name. He could feel Arthur's heart beating into his spine, and a wave of hot pleasure burst through him as Arthur's grip tightened and he let out a loud, drawn-out shout.

It was all a happy surprise, especially after an entire year of sexual frustration, and it overwhelmed Merlin when he realized what had just happened—and that he wasn't waking up. His eyes were large when he turned to face Arthur, and Arthur's own gaze was burning with desire.

Merlin blew out his cheeks, trying to catch his breath, which seemed to amuse Arthur.

"What?" he laughed.

"No, no—It's just—" Merlin said, trying to think of the right words, but his mind was almost as spent as his body. "You—you've _never_ done that before?" he asked, just to check.

Arthur's expression became incredulous. "Well, I—Not with—No."

"Okay, then," Merlin said, not sure whether he accepted that or not. "I—Oh." He moved to place his palm on Arthur's chest for balance, but his fingers merely ghosted over the skin before curling in on themselves. If he dared touch Arthur again, he wasn't sure he could stop, and they'd really been lucky they weren't caught the first time.

Locating their clothes, they got dressed, and Arthur grabbed Merlin's wrist and tugged him into one last kiss before releasing him. Flustered, Merlin cleared his throat and said, "Right, well. I—," he pointed a thumb backwards at the door, "I'll leave first."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed as though it was obvious, and there was a smug air about him.

"Okay," Merlin stuttered, and turned to leave, but Arthur called his name again. When Merlin looked back hopefully, Arthur was brandishing the mop. "Right," Merlin said again a bit awkwardly, taking the mop.

He blew his lips out at Arthur and rolled his eyes at his own foolishness.

"_Go_," Arthur beckoned, and Merlin let out a soft whimper before obeying. For the rest of the day, it was difficult to make up excuses as to why he was so chipper or why he zoned out while performing his duties; and, yes, he needed a good reason indeed when his mother asked him how he'd gotten that mark on his neck.

And why he was walking with a limp.

* * *

Merlin couldn't find it in him to glower at the pale face in the mirror of his room. He simply looked at it with mild indifference, somewhat accustomed to it staring back at him these days. His cheeks and forehead were blotchy and red and the dark circles under his eyes had deepened. Every breath he took seemed to rattle into the emptiness, and every movement felt like he was walking on needles, which was preferable to the occasional numbness in his extremities.

_Three weeks, two days_, he reminded himself, repeating the thought over and over again until he unconsciously began to mutter it under his breath. When he was certain it was stuck in his head, he began a new mantra: _Arthur Pendragon_.

He tried to picture Arthur's face behind his eyelids: bright blonde hair, straight teeth, strong jaw, and eyes . . . Where his eyes dark or light blue? Merlin knew there was something in nature that reminded him of the exact shade, but he could not remember what it was. He skewed his eyes shut tighter, trying to focus as he white-knuckled the edge of the dresser under the mirror. He thought so hard that a headache bloomed in his temple, but the color never flashed before him in the black, no matter how much he willed it.

After a few minutes, he gave up, hoping that the color would occur to him sometime in the next few hours, before they put him back to sleep. Or, maybe it was like Percy said; maybe the memory would return to him in his dreams.

"_Hey_, Merlin," came a familiar voice, the brightness in it now pushed, and Merlin turned his head to find Gwaine standing in his doorway. Gwaine had shrunk somewhat since they first met, his muscles having lessened. His scruff was now a full beard, and those were no longer laughter lines surroundings his eyes.

"Whoa, you look like death warmed up," Gwaine graciously complimented, striding further into the room. "Did you just come back from a lovely session of torture by electrocution?"

"They just woke me up, actually," Merlin told him hoarsely.

Gwaine tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Yeah, same thing."

Merlin didn't quite catch that. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't you know?" Gwaine asked, knitting his brows together. When Merlin shook his head, Gwaine checked around them for any eavesdroppers in the empty room and said in a hushed voice, "They've taken to putting us through treatment in our sleep. Pumpin' us with meds, too."

Merlin wrinkled his nose is disbelief. "Gwaine, I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

Gwaine looked offended. "What makes you the expert?"

"My Uncle Gaius—he's a doctor in Essex," Merlin told him.

Gwaine shrugged this off. "So? My cousin's a fisherman, but that doesn't mean I know anything about cod."

"Gwaine, they need our consent!"

"Who needs consent? They give medication to people in comas, yeah? And what does all that insulin put us in every day?" Gwaine reasoned, and it took a great effort for Merlin to shake his head in disagreement, trying to tune out the words.

"Hey—I _heard_ them talking about it," Gwaine insisted, tapping his earlobe before gesturing vaguely around the room. "Think about it: No one can fight them about going to treatment if everybody's asleep. Makes us more—what's the word?—_complacent_. They're after all of us, mate. You'll see."

Merlin let out a sigh, realizing this conversation wasn't going anywhere. He was too tired to argue, anyway.

"Whatever you say," he told Gwaine.

Gwaine looked satisfied by his victory as the two walked down the corridor and into the common area, passing patients, staff, and cheerful hospital volunteers on the way. Merlin had nearly an hour to waste until his next meeting with Bayard, but neither he nor Gwaine were hungry enough to go to the mess hall. Merlin couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, but he wasn't longing for food. It all tasted like cardboard, anyway, and he didn't want to run the risk of seeing Percy, who had handed himself completely over to the treatment and spent most of his waking hours staring at the wall.

"Oh, tell you what, when they finally do come for us, I bet she's first," Gwaine said as they entered the common room. He was drawing Merlin's attention to a pallid, sickly looking girl in the corner. She was stick thin and looked dead where she sat. Merlin shivered slightly at the sight, but couldn't look away for morbid curiosity.

"She's probably the _reason_ they've decided to start dosing us in our sleep," Gwaine continued.

"Who is she?" Merlin wondered and, honestly, the girl could at least do him the courtesy of blinking. Everyone else in the room was shuffling around, but at least that proved they were still alive.

"Eh—Freya . . . _something_," Gwaine said with a flutter of fingers. "They keep her in DST almost around the clock—make sure she's good and locked down. She's probably only out today because it's room check day for the ladies."

Merlin felt a quick rush of panic as his mind went to all the pills hidden beneath his mattress.

"There are room checks?" he asked, trying to sound casual but he didn't know why. After all, it was only Gwaine.

"Oh, yeah," Gwaine answered airily. "They're supposed to be a surprise, but it's easy to tell when they're coming. So, if you have any, you know, _magazines_—," he nudged Merlin in the ribs, which hurt more than it should have, and winked pointedly, "you can find a good place to hide them for the day. I stash my cigs and chocolate in the ceiling. No one's caught on yet."

Merlin felt a little better about this. Even if he proved unable to figure out the schedule, it was nice to have someone who knew the ins and outs of the system so well.

"Chocolate's illegal here?" Merlin asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Gwaine said with a smirk. "They don't want us to have any joy in life."

Merlin sighed at the truth in that statement, and his eyes fell back on Freya. "What did she do to get in here, then?" he wondered, pointing his chin back over to her.

"Rumor has it, she killed her parents," Gwaine told him. "They're trying to cure her of her violent tendencies."

"Oh, my _god_," Merlin said, taken aback. "Shouldn't she be in an asylum? Is she _safe_?"

Gwaine chuckled at him and clasped a hand to Merlin's shoulder. "Merlin, she's comatose, look at her," Gwaine said, and Merlin had to admit the girl didn't look like she was about to do anything awful like pull out a knife. "Yeah, you're lookin' at our future, there, mate. Soak it in."

God, why did he have to say that?

Merlin bit his bottom lip gently, but the dry skin cracked and caused a small drop of blood to escape, so he stopped, and he turned his focus away from the girl. If Gwaine wanted to accept that fate for himself, he could go right ahead, but Merlin wasn't about to give in so easily.

_The sky!_ he realized at once. The blue, cloudless sky reminded him of Arthur's eye color. He didn't know what had brought on the memory. Perhaps it was just his force of will against Gwaine's words, but he was certain he associated the color with the sky.

He looked over at the window as though to check if he was right, but all he saw were gray clouds. Next to the window, however, at the same table as before, was Gwen. She was staring out at the country landscape fixedly, unmoving.

"Oh, look, it's Gwen," Merlin said, grabbing Gwaine by the elbow and leading him over. "I promised her I'd introduce you."

When they reached the table at which she sat, Merlin was grinning widely, but she did not turn to look at him.

"Gwen, look who I brought," he said, trying for her attention, but she appeared as though she hadn't even heard him. His smile faltered. "Gwen?"

His glance flickered to her reflection on the glass—unblinking and vacant. Apparently, Gwaine saw it, too.

"Jesus. How long has she been here—a year?" Gwaine asked, leaning down towards her and giving her shoulder a quick shake. She moved like a rag doll and, once he let her go, she stilled once more.

"No, she's only gotten here recently," Merlin told him in a preoccupied, worried tone. He slid into the chair across from her to get a better look. "Gwen? It's Merlin. You remember?"

He watched her give a slow, shaky sigh, but she did not respond.

"Oh, no, I know what this is. Saw it in some of the patients back in my old hospitals," Gwaine said at once, nodding to himself. "Your lady friend here is depressed. Capital D."

"Depressed?" Merlin asked, shocked. Sure, she seemed gloomy the last time they'd spoken, but depression? Granted, he knew very little about the ailment, but she seemed alright to him before now.

"Yeah! What, did you not ask her what she was put here for?" Gwaine shook his head and tutted, but then he seemed to tire of the subject. "Anyway, I'm going to look for Percy. You coming?"

"What?" Merlin asked, only half-listening, before the words formed meaning in his mind. "Oh—no. I think I'm going to stay here."

"Suit yourself," Gwaine said before trotting off.

Before he was fully gone, Merlin turned his eyes back on Gwen, who hadn't appeared to move an inch. He realized at once that he had no idea what to say to comfort her, but maybe he could at least get her to talk.

"Are you thinking about your boyfriend again?" he asked in a soft tone. "Lance?"

She continued on in her trance-like state.

"He'd want you to hold on, Gwen," Merlin continued. When she made no reply, he decided that perhaps talking wasn't the best option. Maybe this just needed to play itself out.

"It's okay," he assured her, reaching across the table and sliding his hand gingerly into hers. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I'll sit with you."

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, and he did not let go until Mordred came by to fetch him for his session.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

_21__st__ November, 1945_

Arthur struggled to unknot his tie in the mirror, but he was beginning to think it would never come off. Eventually, he gave up, accepting that Merlin was just so much better at this task than he was.

"Merlin, could you come over here?" he asked, but there was no response. "Merlin?"

He looked up, somewhat impatiently, towards Merlin, who was standing next to the window with the curtains open, staring up at the dark sky. The moonlight flooded in through the glass, illuminating his skin with a silver light and making the tips of his black hair shine. Arthur watched the same glow light up his long, sweeping lashes, which fluttered whenever he blinked. Beneath them, his eyes were glistening sadly against the light.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked again, his tone entirely different than before, but Merlin didn't seem to hear him. As Arthur paced over, he caught sight of Merlin's hands resting on the windowsill, his slender fingers toying idly with something metal.

He must have felt Arthur's presence, because he took in a sharp breath through his nose as though waking up, and turned his attention away from the outside.

"Sorry, were you saying something?" he asked in a very far off voice. It made Arthur knit his brows in perplexity.

He wanted to ask what was troubling Merlin, and he wanted so very badly to take that thing and make sure it saw neither pleasure nor the light of day ever again. But he contained himself, and he put up a front.

"What is that?" he asked towards the object in Merlin's hands, trying to sound more curious than invested in the question.

"It's nothing," Merlin tried, shaking his head and trying to stuff the item in his fist into his trouser pocket. He couldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

"No, it's something, let me see," Arthur said, gingerly grabbing Merlin's wrist and bringing it between them. Merlin gave in easily enough and, when his palm was leveled in Arthur's grasp, he opened his fingers to reveal a military dog tag clasped between them.

"Your father's?" Arthur asked, recognizing them.

Merlin nodded and swallowed passed the lump in his throat. "It's been a year to the day we found out . . ." He trailed off and thinned his lips, and Arthur let his hand drop to his side.

"I'm sorry," he said, understanding now. "I didn't know. Word didn't get to us until months later."

"Yeah, I know," Merlin said, visibly upset but steeling himself, and Arthur couldn't stand it. He wanted to wrap his arms around Merlin and keep all the sadness in the world at bay.

"He was a good man," Arthur said instead, but he was pulling at straws. In truth, he barely knew the man. "And an exceptional cook. He . . . He was the only one who could get me to eat my supper as a child," he added, mostly because he didn't know what else to say, but a warm smile spread onto Merlin's features.

"Yeah, his reputation preceded him, then," Merlin agreed, his eyes distant as though recalling a memory. "You would think he'd be sick of it, but he always came home after he was done here to cook for Mum and me. He was _always_ cooking something at home, especially when he was trying out a new recipe. He used to teach me—even when I didn't want to learn. Even let me cook Christmas dinner all by myself one year."

He nodded softly to himself, and Arthur found he was slightly jealous. He couldn't remember Uther ever teaching him anything so practical.

"Even during the Depression, he made sure there was always food in the house—mostly thanks to the salary you lot paid him," Merlin continued. "And he had a job in a soup kitchen on most days."

"Well, he earned his wages well," Arthur said, somewhat awkwardly, but Merlin didn't seem to notice.

He brightened considerably and seemed to come back to the present. He met Arthur's gaze.

"Are you hungry?" he asked at once, catching Arthur off guard.

"Am I—?"

"I'm _starving_," Merlin said, powering through, and his expression made Arthur smile.

"I could eat," he agreed, and Merlin practically bounced out of the room, Arthur in tow.

It was late, and no one was in the kitchen when they arrived there. Arthur felt somehow out of place in the room, like he didn't quite belong there despite the fact that it was part of the house he'd lived in all his life. He'd only been in the kitchen a certain number of times, and not for many years. Merlin, however, looked perfectly at home there. He seemed to know exactly where everything was as he started through the pantry and the walk-in refrigerator, pulling out ingredients and utensils.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked as Merlin stuck his hand into the flour jar and pulled out a fist of the powder before sprinkling it on the marble counter top.

"Cooking!" Merlin said as though it was obvious.

"Yes, I can see that," Arthur said dumbly. "But won't the kitchen staff get angry if they wake up to find the place a mess tomorrow morning?"

Merlin chuckled openly at this as he cracked some eggs into a bowl. "It won't be a mess," he replied. "Father always said the most fun part of cooking was cleaning up after yourself."

Arthur had to disagree as he leaned forward against the opposite side of the island counter. "I always thought that was the eating."

"That's because you have no work ethic," Merlin accused, pointing a whisk at his face. "Now, come on, don't just stand around. You can be my sous-chef."

Arthur looked as though the idea were preposterous. "Your _what_?"

"Sous-chef!" Merlin said again exuberantly. "The chef's assistant."

"I _know_ what a sous-chef is, _Mer_lin," Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

"Good. Then you already know you'll have to do whatever I say," Merlin said cheerfully, and Arthur couldn't argue with that tone—or that smile.

Pretending to be more perturbed than he was actually was, he stalked around the counter to Merlin's side, looking down at the ingredients situated neatly on the counter like they were from some other planet where food didn't just _come_ prepared. He then realized that was the planet he lived on.

"So, um," he said unsurely. "What are we making?"

"Don't question the chef!" Merlin said, flicking some loose flour in Arthur's direction. Arthur responded by picking up a handful and doing the same, but it only made Merlin laugh.

After about a half hour, Arthur realized they were making a steak and kidney pie, and two hours later they were enjoying it, still standing around the counter. Merlin rolled the crust himself, and it was flaky and sweet. The meat and gravy inside were savory, without too much run, and Merlin grated some cheddar cheese into it before baking, calling it a secret ingredient. It was just like Balinor had made it, and every bite was like a trip down memory lane. Arthur wanted it to last forever, but he could not ration his intake.

"This is incredible," Arthur said, his mouth full, for what must have been the fifth time.

"Is it?" Merlin asked modestly, taking a bite himself. "I hope I did it justice."

"You did," Arthur assured him, swallowing.

"This was always my favorite of Dad's recipes," Merlin admitted. "He made it every year on my birthday."

"Mine, too, actually," Arthur said, forgetting about the food for the first time since it was placed in front of him.

"Yeah?" Merlin wondered, seemly oddly lifted by that fact, so Arthur nodded.

"He'd be proud," Arthur said, "of the pie, I mean."

Merlin absolutely beamed, and it made Arthur's heart beat a little faster.

"Well, now that I know how to make it, I won't be needing any of the kitchen staff ever again," Arthur told him, trying to get his mind off the grin. He took another bite and pointedly slid the fork through his teeth.

"Oh, no! It's one thing to make it; it's another thing entirely to _cook_ it," Merlin defended. "That takes years of practice."

"Well, then, I'll just have to keep you around forever," Arthur told him. "You can cook all my meals for me."

"I wouldn't mind that so much," Merlin admitted, and Arthur didn't know which notion he had been speaking of. He found himself hoping that the first was more appealing to Merlin than the second. Arthur would be happy for either, but the first one . . .

"You're staring at me," Merlin said after a few moments of silence, and Arthur realized at once he'd be doing just that.

"No, I'm—" he stammered. "I was just thinking, and you were in my line of sight."

Putting it out of his head, he shoveled another bite into his mouth and hummed around it.

"You're wasted as a manservant. You should be working in the kitchens," Arthur said. "You'd put the current chef to shame."

"Oh, he isn't so bad," Merlin muttered, wetting a sponge and starting to mop up the counter top. "And you'd get fat," he added snarkily. "Besides, I'm happy to be yours." He looked up quickly and hastened to say, "Your manservant, that is."

If Arthur pretended really hard, he could imagine Merlin had not corrected himself. And, if he _really_ tried, he could picture a world in which they could be together and happy and custom would not bat a single eyelash at the fact that they were both men or servant and master.

"Me, too," he said, somewhat breathlessly.

He was almost sure that Merlin's cheekbones had flushed crimson, but he turned around too quickly to clean off the stove for Arthur to really see.

* * *

It turned out Uther's prediction had come true: the Pendragons certainly were seeing much of Rodor and Mithian. They spent two days of every week together: once when they came to Kent, and once when Uther, Arthur, and Morgana would travel up to Birmingham. The drive was long, but Uther allowed Arthur to make it behind the wheel more often than not, and it was a relief to see Mithian.

When they visited, Mithian would take the siblings out to her favorite places in Birmingham, just as they would bring her into town on occasion. They went to restaurants, the theater or the cinema, or simply walked around talking for hours on end. Mithian had taken to bringing her astronomy and mythology books and star charts whenever she came down, and Arthur learned about dozens of constellations and the stories behind them. He found that, with her, he wasn't quite so bored or full of nervous energy as he was every other day of the week. He didn't know whether it was fresh air or the new friendship that did it, but he was happier on the days he saw her.

Uther's mood had lifted, too. While he had been so distant with Arthur as of late, those tendencies seemed to evaporate. Even on the days without guests, Uther invited Arthur to dine with him, and he spoke of a family holiday, along with Morgana and Leon, to Bermuda sometime in the near future. At first, Arthur was wary about Uther's sudden jovial nature towards him, and he attempted to brush his father off as much as possible, but he found himself less hostile as time went on. No, Arthur had not forgotten what Uther had done, and he was certainly not about to forgive him or to admit his plans of finding Merlin, since he was certain Uther would still not understand; but it was nice to have a father who could look at him in the eyes again. It was something he never thought he'd earn back.

The first days of August found Arthur, Morgana, Leon, and Mithian sitting on a blanket under the ancient linden tree in the back garden of Camelot Manor. It was a relatively hot day, but the leaves provided enough shade for comfort, and there was a soft breeze that lessened the humidity.

"Oh, get it, Leon!" Morgana was shouting, scrambling to no avail for a sheet of paper that got lost in a particularly strong gust. Leon jumped up and jogged after it, blowing the loose dirt off it before handing it back to her.

"It's _ruined_ now," she complained, looking down at the cream colored stationary. "We can't possibly use it."

"Morgana, it's _fine_," Arthur said with a roll of his eyes as he stretched his legs in front of him and leaned back on his palms. "No one's going to notice a speck of dirt."

Close beside him, Mithian tried not to laugh.

"He has a point," Leon agreed sheepishly, but retreated when Morgana shot him a look.

"No, no. I can't take that chance," she decided. "Sefa, be a darling and put this with the rest of the rejects, will you?"

From her place on the patio, Sefa rushed over and retrieved the paper from Morgana. "Will there be anything else, my Lady?" she asked.

"No, just—Get that out of my sight," Morgana said with a frustrated wave of her hand, and Sefa curtsied and trotted off. On her way into the house, Arthur saw her pass George, who was hovering, unmoving, next to the hedges to keep an eye on Arthur, but Arthur tried his best to ignore him. He was somewhat used to having a shadow by now.

"Arthur," Morgana said, snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in front of his face. "Brush off your hands and put this into an envelope."

Arthur did as he was told, and dropped the scented piece of paper into a crisp envelope he picked up from the stack next to him. Morgana and Leon had finally picked a date for their wedding, putting it on the fifteenth of December of that year, and she'd become completely unbearable in arranging it. Arthur often asked why she didn't just hire a planner, but she was adamant about being in control, asserting that anyone else would just complicate the issue—as though this wasn't complicated enough.

What was more, she wrangled Mithian and Arthur into helping her along every step of the way. Leon, of course, Arthur could understand. He was the groom, and he should really be prepared for the life of insanity that he was about to dive headfirst into. But Arthur didn't know how he got stuck shoving invitations into envelopes along with him, while Mithian and Morgana wrote out the details in elaborate cursive. However, Mithian seemed happy enough for it, so Arthur didn't complain and tagged along.

"You don't have to be so bossy," Arthur chided his sister, who glared at him venomously.

"Oh, Arthur, she'll be in debt to you later," Mithian told him with a laugh.

"Yes, Arthur, or maybe you just owe _me_," Morgana said pointedly through her teeth.

"Is that so?" Arthur asked skeptically. "Because I can't recall you doing a damn thing for me."

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," she shot back, making Arthur raise a brow in curiosity.

Apparently, Leon was just as lost. "Is someone going to tell me what we're talking about?" he asked. "Because I haven't got a clue anymore."

"It's nothing, dear," Morgana assured him.

"Just sibling banter," Mithian deciphered, plucking a strawberry from the bowl in the center of the blanket and biting into it. She made it seem graceful but, when Arthur did the same, a trail of red dripped down from his lips, sending Mithian into a fit of laughter, which was like a contagion to Arthur.

"Oh, poor you," she giggled, grabbing a napkin and brushing the red off his chin with its corner. Across from them, Morgana and Leon shared an ambiguous glance, but they insisted it was nothing when Arthur inquired after it.

Mithian, on the other hand, cleared her throat softly and turned her eyes towards the curtained window of Uther's study across the lawn.

"What do you suppose they're always talking about?" she asked, shaking her wrist out before getting back to writing the invitations.

While the younger ones filled their time together with various activities, Uther and Rodor did little else than lock themselves into their respective study or parlor together to discuss something that neither of them even hinted towards when the day was over. Arthur sometimes heard their muffled voices through the door as he passed by, but he could never make out what exactly they were talking about.

"Some sort of business deal, I'm sure," Morgana said in a preoccupied tone as she filled out her invitation. "Probably a merger. By the time they're done, I'd be shocked if they didn't own every hospital in England between the two of them."

"Well, if they're to become partners, it's a good thing we all get along," Mithian told them, smiling softly at Arthur, who nodded in agreement.

His soft grin fell when a new shadow appeared over them, blocking the light of the sunshine filtering through the tree's canopy.

"Oh, for god's sake, George!" Morgana scolded. "I can't see what I'm writing!"

"Forgive me, my Lady," George said with a soft bow before clicking his heels and turning stiffly towards Arthur. "Sir, I must inform you that it is time for your three o'clock appointment."

"Oh," Arthur said, feeling somewhat dejected about leaving the group. "Right, of course. I'll be right there."

As Arthur stood up, Mithian followed him with her eyes. "My, you _do_ have a lot of appointments," she said lightly. "Don't tell me you're in the midst of secret hospital plan, too?"

Arthur tried to laugh naturally, but it was cut short when he made eye contact with his sister.

"Business calls," he joked back, starting after George.

"Arthur's a man of mystery," he heard Leon say, and doubted very much that his appointments were a mystery at all to Leon. He was sure Morgana had told him everything, which didn't bother him too much. After all, Leon was family, or at least he would be on the fifteenth of December.

But he felt somewhat guilty keeping Mithian out of the loop. They had gotten so close in such a short time, and he felt he could confide in her as she trusted in him. But he didn't know how their friendship might be affected if she were to learn the truth. It was a large thing to keep from her—like he was wasn't showing her a giant piece of himself—but perhaps it was best to leave some things unsaid.

George led Arthur to the parlor, where Dr. de Bois was waiting, already sitting on the sofa in the middle of the room. When Arthur entered, he stood up, a large grin pressing his face.

"Arthur, very good to see you," he said, extending his hand, which Arthur shook as George left the room, no doubt to stand right outside the closed doors.

"Agravaine," Arthur said courteously, and the doctor took his seat back on the couch while Arthur sat down in the armchair.

Agravaine was only one of the many psychiatrists Arthur had been seeing, but he was no doubt the head of the group. If he ruled something, the other doctors pedantically went along with it, and Arthur often wished one of them would challenge his methods. He could certainly do with less medication, but until _Aggravate_, as Arthur referred to him inwardly, deemed it so, or at least until George stopped being so aggressively helpful, there was no chance of that.

"I see Miss Mithian and her father are here today," Agravaine said once they'd both settled in. "I'm sorry to take you away from such a beautiful young woman. I promise not to be long."

Arthur nodded thankfully, and it wasn't lost on him that the doctor had brought up Mithian yet again. She seemed to be all they talked about in Arthur's most recent sessions, which was fine with him. He couldn't tell any of the doctors about his and Morgana's ongoing search for Merlin, and it was best if each of them assumed Arthur's thoughts were no longer with him. He made a point not to bring up Merlin to anyone anymore, except Morgana when he badgered her about her thus far fruitless excursions to the hospitals with Uther.

"So, why don't you tell me what you've been up to since we last met," Agravaine insisted with another professional smile that tried much too hard to look friendly.

"It's been a slow week. I've mostly been helping Morgana with her wedding arrangements," Arthur admitted. "She's dragged me to a few churches and venues, but I'm certain she'll only settle for Westminster Abbey."

Agravaine snorted. "I wouldn't doubt," he said, although he barely knew Morgana apart from what little Arthur had told him about her. "Anything else?" he inquired, jotting down a few notes on the pad resting on his knee.

Arthur shrugged. "Mithian and I went to the opera on Monday," he said with a tight smile. "We saw _Candide_. George seemed to like it, too, but I can never tell."

"No, he _is_ an odd fellow," Agravaine said, and Arthur was pleased that someone else finally admitted it.

"I've noticed you haven't brought up Merlin at all in the recent weeks," Agravaine continued. As he said it, he crossed his legs and leaned in closer to Arthur, looking at him pointedly. "You've been doing it deliberately."

Arthur felt his breath catch. He thought he'd been so careful about hiding his attitude toward Merlin, but had he been too careful? In his attempts to trick the doctors, where they reading him in a new light? Did they see passed his mask?

"Relax, Arthur, that's a good thing," Agravaine said, brightening at once and straightening back out.

When Arthur remembered how to breathe again, he blinked in confusion and asked unsurely, "It is?"

"Of course!" assured the doctor. "You're taking an active role in correcting your behavior. That's showing progress."

Arthur doubted he was progressing in the direction he was supposed to, unless he was meant to become an exceptional liar, but he let the comment slide as Agravaine continued.

"By keeping yourself active and doing the things you enjoy—like working with your car, for example—or, say, spending time with a new friend; you're healing," he explained. "You're leaving the past behind you and working towards a healthier future."

"So," Arthur began slowly, not quite sure what this all meant. "I'm . . . _cured_?"

The word made his skin crawl, but he fought back the distaste it left in his mouth.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. There's still much to do," Agravaine said, "but you're on track."

As Arthur thought this over, Agravaine closed his notepad and sat it on the coffee table.

"Now, this leaves us with a number of options," he told Arthur. "I've spoken to my colleagues," which Arthur highly doubted, "and we've agreed that it's time to wean you off some of your medication."

Arthur nearly jumped out of his chair at this.

"What?" he exclaimed, not having believed his ears.

Agravaine smirked. "Not all of them at once," he said. "For example, the sedative I've prescribed for you to help you sleep at night—I'd like you to stay on that. But I think it's time for the anxiety medication to go away, don't you? The same, of course, for the chemical castration."

"Oh, thank _god_!" Arthur almost shouted in relief. There wasn't much he could do for his libido with Merlin gone, but it would be nice to have it unsuppressed—especially for when he got Merlin back.

"I thought you might like that," Agravaine laughed, and then he got back down to business. "Also, I've talked to your father, and he's seen much improvement, too. We feel it's time that you were granted more liberties. It's not right to have a man your age under lock and key every moment of the day."

Arthur's eyes widened. He was starting to like Agravaine very much indeed.

"You mean, George doesn't have to follow me everywhere I go?" he asked, just to be perfectly clear.

"No, he no longer has to accompany you when you leave the manor," Agravaine assured him, and Arthur felt like he might kiss the man, if that meant he wouldn't lose all the freedoms just handed to him. "Your father still insists you go with people he knows, such as your sister or your soon-to-be brother-in-law."

"Or Mithian?" Arthur asked.

A smile played on Agravaine's features, and he nodded.

"Certainly," he answered, standing up. "In fact, I suggest you take the girl out to a nice dinner tonight to celebrate."

"Oh, I _will_," Arthur said, standing up, too, and shaking the doctor's hand feverishly. "Thank you, Doctor!"

"You should be thanking yourself," Agravaine told him. "I'll leave instructions with George regarding the medication. You must make sure not to stop cold turkey. It's a slow process, but you should be off the medication by the end of next week. There may be some side effects—"

"As long as they aren't more mood swings," Arthur said hastily.

"Well, no promises," Agravaine said before seeing himself out.

Arthur waited until the doors to the parlor closed again to fall back into his chair and laugh in victory. He was able to leave the grounds without George's prying eyes, reporting back to Uther on every occasion.

That meant he could go out again and search for Merlin himself.

* * *

After supper, once Leon and Mithian and Rodor left and Uther retired for the night, Arthur was walking, a certain renewed spring in his step, to his bedroom, when a door to his right flew open and two hands pulled him forcefully inside.

"_Morgana_!" he shouted as she stuck her head out the threshold to make sure no one was around before closing the door.

"Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" he said, straightening out his shirt. He looked around Morgana's elaborately decorated room and noticed some of its contents had been taken off the walls or removed from their places. They were now packed away into boxes and trunks in the corner of the room.

"Moving out?" he asked skeptically.

"What? Oh—no. It's been like that for ages," she said with a flutter of her hand. "Ever since I got engaged."

"I thought you _wanted_ to still be here?"

She raised a brow at him. "_Please_ tell me you're smarter than that." When he didn't answer, she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, that's not why I've called you in here—"

"Called—?" Arthur choked. "You _manhandled _me!"

"_Anyway_!" Morgana emphasized, getting him to shut up. "I couldn't tell you before because there were always people around, but, Arthur . . . I found him."

For a moment, all Arthur could do was stare blankly, processing the words over and over again until he was absolutely sure he understood their meaning.

"You . . . ?" he breathed.

"Found him, yes!" Morgana said again, smiling widely up at him. "I didn't know why I hadn't seen him before! I've accompanied Father to that hospital at least twice before I saw him. And it's one of the only experimental wards. Whatever they're doing there, it must be important, because Father makes the trip at least once a week."

Now that Arthur's thoughts had caught up to him, he felt his heart racing in his chest and his mind whirling.

"Where?" he demanded.

"No, I can't tell you that," Morgana said, crossing her arms boldly, and Arthur felt himself tense.

"What the Hell are you talking about?" he asked through his teeth. "Of course, you can. Morgana—"

"_No_, I won't," she said. "Because, the moment I do, you'll get into that car of yours and drive right over, guns blazing."

"Yes, I will," he admitted, nodding feverishly.

"And that's why I won't say," she told him. "Because I won't let you do anything so stupid. Now that we know where Merlin is, we can come up with a plan to get you to see him. We need to think of a tactic—some way to get you in as a visitor without anyone knowing who you are, and without Father ever finding out."

Arthur deflated, knowing that Morgana was right but not caring. He would break down the walls of the ward if necessary, but her way was probably preferable. He didn't want to lose Merlin when he was so close in reach.

"Alright, fine," Arthur agreed, rubbing his eyes and pacing away. "Can you at least tell me how he is? What did he say to you?"

"He didn't say anything," Morgana said. "He was asleep."

Arthur dropped his hands from his face and looked at her inquiringly over his shoulder.

"They keep the patients sleeping for most of the time," she explained. "I don't know why. Father never allows me in the treatment rooms or the offices or anywhere important. I mostly just visit with the patients who are awake. I only happened across his room—that's how I found him."

Arthur let out a heavy breath, but nodded in acceptance. He wished Morgana had told him differently—that she told Merlin that Arthur hadn't lost hope, that he hadn't forgotten his promise of finding him.

"Don't fret, dear brother," Morgana told him, walking up behind him and standing on her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder. "We'll think of something."

"I know," he said softly, but determined. "Thank you, Morgana."

"Of course," she said, releasing him and walking to the door. She opened it and ushered him out. "Now, like I said earlier, you owe me. Plan to spend your newly acquired freedom running errands with me for the wedding."

"I can hardly wait," Arthur lied, but he knew better than to protest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

The beginning of August really should have been brighter. The sun should have been beating down on the grounds, dust particles circling in its beams, but it seemed the doctors only liked waking Merlin up on the gloomy days.

_Six weeks, one day_, Merlin repeated to himself in the mirror, ignoring the weight loss and the hair growth that occurred in the elapsed time.

_No, two days_, he thought, second-guessing himself, which made him feel nauseated. Was it one or two days? That mattered. Because if he couldn't keep track of time, how was he expected to account for anything else? Especially memories.

It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep a grasp on them. He carried with him a perpetual pit in his stomach, feeling as though he was missing something at every point of the day. There were times when he couldn't recall a conversation he had, whether it was that morning with a doctor or months ago with Arthur. Sometimes, he completely forgot where he was or why he was there. He was forgetting himself, forgetting Arthur.

The sound of his voice. The way the light haloed his hair. The feel of his touch when he brushed his fingers to Merlin's skin.

If only he could find those things again, he was certain every other memory would fall into place.

In the meantime, the doctors had upped his medication and his time spent asleep. He would spend days unconscious, in a deep sleep, after which he'd forget all he'd dreamt; and his arms were bruised purple from the daily insulin injections. It seemed he was going to less therapy sessions, too, and he thought his electrotherapy treatments had decreased, though he couldn't be sure. His temples still burned with the aftermath, and he one day noticed small red circles on his skin had formed, in the same place the nodes were attached, with no memory of when that happened.

A little over a week ago, Percy had checked out of the ward. Merlin saw him go, looking strange to his eyes in street clothes and a rucksack.

"Good luck," Merlin had told him, going to shake his hand, and Percy took it with slight apprehension. "They don't give much help to veterans out in the world, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Percy said, furrowing his brows and looking as though he had just remembered some far off memory. "Shame."

At once, Merlin realized Percy had no idea who he was; and Merlin wondered very much if Percy even knew who _he_ was.

Gwaine had become more distant in the previous weeks, too. Like Merlin, he spent most of his time sleeping. When they did meet in the common area or cafeteria, Gwaine no longer cracked jokes or told Merlin of his new theories of the patients' vile mistreatment. He was slipping further away which each passing day, but Merlin tried his best to keep him in good spirits. To keep him defiant, for both their sakes.

However, for the moment, he was simply happy to stretch his legs, and they took him to the common room, where new faces looked around in worry and old faces where envious of their bright eyes.

Gwen was sitting at the table by the window again, looking much more lively than when Merlin had seen her last, but that wasn't hard to do by comparison. Eager for the company, he slid into the seat across from her, and she looked up at him instantly with a pleasant, if not a little tired, smile.

"Merlin," she said in her kind tone, placing her arms on her lap beneath the table and leaning in. "Long time no see."

"Sorry about that. I would have gotten here earlier but," he said lightly, "I overslept."

She chuckled warmly and shook her head at this, causing her curls to bounce. "Happens to the best of us."

Merlin's expression turned to concern as he said, "How are you doing, since . . .?"

"Oh? Oh, I'm _fine_," Gwen insisted, playing it off with a smile. "They keep me asleep most of the time so—god, it's like all the days blend together. And the medication they have me on is the same anti-depressant I've always taken, except a larger dose—which make me feel like a larger dose of crazy."

She was speaking lightheartedly, but Merlin heard the weight in her words.

"You're not crazy," he assured her.

"He says as we sit in what is, for all in tense and purposes, a mental institution," she countered.

"Right, fair enough," he conceded, pulling a face.

"I hate the treatment, though," Gwen said, looking somber now. "I mean, I'm not the only one, I know that. But I just—It messes with your head, doesn't it? And the pain . . ."

Lifting her arms to run her fingers through her hair, Merlin noticed gauze wrapped around her left arm. It had a blotch of bright red soaking the inner wrist.

"I'm _terrified _of it—"

"What is that?" Merlin asked, and she looked confused for a moment before realizing his meaning.

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, trying to put her hands casually back on her lap, but he caught them before she had the chance. "No, Merlin, it's—"

The bandaged arm gave no visibility to the skin but, when he looked at her overturned wrist in his other hand, he saw white horizontal lines and healing scabs cluttering the delicate flesh.

"Gwen . . ." he breathed, not quite sure how to follow it up. His mind was completely blank, and she used his shock as an opportunity to pull her hands away and stuff them beneath the table.

"It's _nothing_," she said again, sounding angry.

"_Nothing_?" he repeated, and stammered a little bit. "Gwen—I . . . Why?"

When his senses finally returned to him, he met her gaze, which was slowly filling up.

"You know _why_, Merlin," she whispered.

He shook his head and let his mouth hang open, at a complete loss for coherent words or reasoning.

"It's the _treatment_," she clarified, spitting the word as though she were expelling a poison. "The electrotherapy or—or whatever they want to call it. They're toying with our minds; don't you see it? They're playing with our memories—making us forget. I was forgetting his smile, Merlin, and his eyes—_his eyes_! They're not trying to cure us at all! They're trying to strip us down and reprogram us!"

Her voice was growing louder and angrier with each word, and he knew she was right. He had been thinking it ever since the day he arrived, but when it was put into words—when it was said like _that_ . . .

Well, they sounded almost as paranoid as Gwaine.

"And it makes me feel numb, Merlin," she continued, her voice shaking and frustrated tears dropping from her lashes. "Each time they bring me to the treatment rooms . . . I feel numb. And at least with this—," she held up her bandage in near pride, "I can feel _something_. I know it sounds crazy, but it helps me hold on—to remember Lance. It makes me remember who I was with him, and how happy he made me. The doctors may think it's better to forget, but I don't want to. It's something that happened to _me_ in _my_ life, and I'm okay with feeling pain every day, just to remember a _moment_. Do you understand?"

Her eyes searched his face pleadingly, and it took him a few seconds to realize he wasn't saying anything. But _of course_ he understood—every single word. He just didn't know how to articulate it.

"I don't want to forget," she said again. She took in a heavy breath, and suddenly looked tired. "I'd rather die than forget."

The words spurred something inside of him, and he reached across the table and quickly took her hands in his. They seemed colder than before.

"You'll do neither," he told her. "I promise you, I will help you. We can help each other."

Swallowing her emotions, she looked down at their hands and told them, "That's very kind of you, Merlin, but you can't prevent the treatment."

"No, I can't," Merlin admitted, but there had to be something he _could_ do. He'd managed to hold on to the majority of his wits for a month and half. With help, he knew he could survive through this—and so could she. Still thinking, he said, "But we can—We can help each other remember!"

Yes, that sounded right.

"We can tell each other about our lives before this place. You can tell me about Lance," he continued. "That way, if we feel ourselves slipping, we'll have each other to remind one another. We can hold each other's memories."

She looked at him like she wanted to believe this could be done.

"I—I'll tell you about Lance?" she clarified. "And you'll tell me about your love?"

At once, Merlin realized what he had done, but there was no going back now.

"Yes," he said surely. "It's worth a shot. So, go on—tell me something about Lance. Anything. How did you meet?"

She sat back against the chair and took a breath, collecting her thoughts. Apparently, she decided to trust Merlin, because she began, "On a train back from Edinburgh. I had been visiting my aunt in town; he'd just gotten back from a wilderness trip in the Scottish Highlands." She shook her head, closed her eyes, and laughed at some connected memory.

"He sat next to me on the train," she continued with a sniffle, but her eyes were now dry. "As it turned out, we were both in the middle of reading the same play—_Romeo and Juliet_. He was a little ahead of me, but we all know how that story goes, so we were chatting about it. Between you and me, I _hate_ that play, and I told him so. But he defended it, said it was a classic story; and I told him that doesn't mean it isn't rubbish."

Merlin listened attentively as the story picked up momentum, trying not to interrupt, not that it would have mattered. She seemed to be in her own world, and she probably wouldn't notice if he got up and walked away completely.

"We debated about it the entire way to London," she went on. "We were arguing and laughing so loudly that the conductor had to come over and tell us there'd been complaints from other passengers." She looked so happy as she said it that Merlin could help but smile wildly, picturing it all in his mind's eyes. "After we got into town, it was late, and he walked me home. I thought I'd never see him again but, two days later, I found a rose on my front stoop. There was a letter attached to it. 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' and it asked me to join him for dinner that night."

"And you went?" Merlin asked, getting ahead of himself.

"Oh, lord, no!" she chuckled. "Every woman should learn the art of playing hard to get. It makes you men think about us more."

Merlin decided he'd keep that in mind.

"But Lance was persistent, like I hoped he'd be," said Gwen. "The next day, I found _two_ roses on my stoop. By the following week, I had a whole dozen! And I just couldn't say no after that." She smiled inwardly again. "Ever since then, at the beginning of every week, he'd hand me a rose . . . I can still smell them when I close my eyes," so she did just that.

"That's _good_," Merlin told her cheerfully, giving her hand a squeeze. "It means you haven't forgotten."

"No, I suppose not," she agreed, looking grateful. After a moment, she straightened out again and cleared her throat. "Now it's your turn. You said you were in here because of someone. What's her name?"

Merlin bit at his lip in apprehension, staring down at the battered tabletop.

"Arthur," he blurted out, glancing back up to gauge her reaction. After all, not everyone was as flippant in his or her acceptance as Gwaine.

She looked as though something had dawned on her. "Oh," she said shortly. "I—That's why you're in here, isn't it?"

He nodded, thinking that she might recoil from him.

Instead, she cleared her throat again. It didn't change a thing.

"Okay, then," she said, making a point to meet his eyes, and he felt relieved. "Tell me about Arthur."

* * *

_19__th__ March, 1946_

"Hand me the torque spanner, will you?"

Arthur had his palm held out expectantly, but he didn't duck his head out from beneath the bonnet. Merlin paced towards the toolbox on the ground next to the car's front wheel and shuffled the contents around until he found the correct tool. He still didn't know what half of them did, but he was getting better at identifying them.

"I don't understand why you just don't get the mechanic to do it," Merlin told Arthur, slapping the handle of the wrench in his hand, watching his fingers curl around it. "It's why your father hired him."

"No," Arthur corrected, his voice muffled against the metal. "Father hired him for _that_."

He stuck a hand out and pointed vaguely towards the brand new, black Jaguar Mark IV that Uther had recently purchased for himself.

"And that's only because my father doesn't know what an engine even _looks_ like."

There was a grinding sound as Arthur worked the spanner, and Merlin peered in over his shoulder with a wrinkled nose.

"You're _sure_ you know what you're doing?" he asked.

Arthur let out a heavy breath and looked up at Merlin.

"Merlin, _please_," he said. "I've done this hundreds of times."

"Fair enough," Merlin surrendered, walking away to give Arthur space to work.

Minutes later, Arthur straightened out and closed the bonnet. "Good as new," he said, tossing the oil stained rag over his shoulder and ripping off his work gloves. "Should run like a dream."

"Congratulations," Merlin told him, picking up Arthur's discarded white button-up and tossing it towards him. He caught it seamlessly and began shrugging into it, which was really a shame. The sleeveless undershirt had been much better for objectifying Arthur's biceps, but Merlin supposed all good things must come to an end.

"So, what do you say—test spin?" Arthur said, nodding his head sideways towards the Continental as he buttoned up his shirt.

Merlin shrugged. "Sounds fine."

Arthur turned towards the driver's side, but then he hesitated. After a beat, he turned back around to face Merlin and asked, "Do you know how to drive?"

The question caught Merlin off guard. "Do I—?"

"Do _you_ know _how_ to _drive_?" Arthur asked again, slower this time to allow the words space to process.

"I—Not really," Merlin admitted. He'd never been behind the wheel himself. All he knew about driving was what he observed while watching Arthur.

Arthur shrugged softly at this and produced his keys from his trouser pockets. "Would you like to learn?" he offered, jingling the keys between his fingers.

Merlin looked from him to the keys incredulously for a long time before realizing Arthur was probably only having a laugh. There was no chance he'd ever let anyone else touch his car.

"Yeah, right," Merlin snorted, kicking the toolbox closed. "Very funny."

"Well, if you don't want to," Arthur snipped, sounding offended, and Merlin wondered if he really was joking.

"You're _actually_ serious?" Merlin checked, and Arthur's eyes widened innocently as he nodded.

"Take it or leave it."

Merlin ran his tongue across his bottom lip in consideration.

"Fine," he decided, pacing up towards Arthur and relieving him of the car keys. Their fingers brushed as he did so, and Merlin ignored the shiver that ran down his spine to cross to the driver's side as Arthur made his way to the passenger seat. "Sorry in advance if I crash her."

Arthur let out a snort of laughter. "If you crash her, you won't _need _to be sorry," he said, fitting in to the passenger seat. He looked odd there, or maybe Merlin just wasn't used this perspective. "Because you'll be dead."

"Yeah, good luck finding anyone else who will put up with you," Merlin said as he closed the door. He leaned in towards Arthur with a cheeky smile. "_And_ who will kiss you goodnight every evening."

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed Merlin's face away with his open palm.

Merlin was aware of Arthur's eyes on him as he sat straight and looked in front of him at all the buttons and controls, preparing himself. He wanted to know where everything was, just in case he needed it, but he realized he had no idea what half the controls did.

"Foot on the clutch, and put the key in the ignition," Arthur told him.

"I know what to do!" Merlin defended. He put the gearshift into neutral and he held the key in the ignition until he heard the engine kick on. It was only the first step, but he couldn't help but to feel proud of himself.

"Right, okay," he murmured, a little frazzled, as he curled the fingers of one hand around the thin leather steering wheel while the other gripped the gearshift. "First gear?"

Arthur nodded. "Then release the clutch and accelerate—_slowly_!"

Merlin did as he was told, and he felt his heart leap into his throat with a mixture of fear and excitement as the car started rolling forwards. He winced slightly and let out a nervous sound as he tapped his toe on the accelerator, and the car sped up slightly.

"Good, very good," Arthur told him, watching Merlin's process and glancing out the windscreen every now and again. Merlin kept his eyes fixed ahead, completely forgetting about the rearview and side mirrors and windows, so he didn't see the gardener attempting to cross the drive.

"Don't run over this chap," Arthur said casually, but it caused a panic to surge through Merlin. He slammed on the break, causing the car to screech and jolt forward.

"_Mer_lin!"

"Sorry!" Merlin shouted back, clutching the wheel with white knuckles. He looked up at the gardener, who was waving a thank you and jogging across the drive in front of them, and mouthed another apology at him. Arthur held up his palm in greeting back at the man, wearing a tight smile.

"Don't _do_ that!" he then demanded.

"Well, don't surprise me like that!"

"I didn't want you to kill that poor man," Arthur explained quickly.

"I was barely going five miles-per-hour, Arthur! I wouldn't have even knocked him off his feet!"

Arthur put up his palms and said, "Fine. It's done. Stop looking so pale, Merlin. If you get sick in this car, you're a dead man."

"Got it," Merlin said, counting off the threats on his fingers against the steering wheel. "No crashing, no vomiting."

Arthur then gestured for Merlin to get going again, and Merlin became a lot more conscious of using his mirrors from that point on.

Eventually, Arthur told him to speed up so that they might get out of the driveway sometime before they were old men, and Merlin made it through the main gate of the estate with relative ease.

Once they had gotten onto the main road, Arthur instructed Merlin on how to shift into a higher gear, and which gears to use while going up- and downhill. Just as Merlin was getting comfortable with it all, he saw another car advancing up behind them in the rearview.

"Oh, god, I'll be going too slow for them," Merlin said, but Arthur wouldn't let him panic.

"Don't worry," he said soothingly. "If he dares blow his hooter, I'll get out of the car and knock him silly."

"Charming," Merlin muttered sarcastically, even though the notion of Arthur defending his honor made his heart flutter. "My knight in shining armor."

Meanwhile, Arthur was cranking down his window. He reached out his arm and motioned for the car to go around them, and Merlin tensed a little when it zoomed passed.

Merlin paid close attention whenever Arthur gave him directions, whether it concerned the actual act of driving or what direction to go in, and listened as Arthur explained all the controls on the dashboard and why the different gears were necessary. He kept Merlin away from the main town, saying he would need more practice before he was able to handle traffic and pedestrians, and kept them to the backcountry roads.

Every now and again, when he dared, Merlin would take his eyes off the road to glance quickly at Arthur, who seemed content and happy. Merlin wondered what he was thinking about when he smiled like that.

With every passing crossroad, Merlin felt more and more comfortable behind the wheel. He was getting his feel for driving, and he was rather starting to enjoy it. It helped his attitude, of course, whenever Arthur praised him—sometimes for doing nothing special at all. If he didn't know better, he'd say Arthur just liked complimenting him. Even the times Arthur had to correct him on something, he did it patiently, which was a rare virtue for him.

Before Merlin knew it, the sun was starting to sink behind the hills, and Arthur made him pull off to the side of the road.

"So?" Arthur wondered once the car was put into park. "What do you make of it?"

"It was—" Merlin began, not really knowing how to describe his exhilaration. "It was great! _Really_ great!"

He grinned from ear to ear, and it must have been infectious, because Arthur couldn't bite back his smile.

"Well, you didn't do awfully for a first attempt," he said, trying to regain his usual composure. "We're still alive, so I guess that's something."

"Oh, you're just afraid I'll catch up to your skill soon," Merlin teased; and, he didn't know if it was the pink and orange sunset or his pride in himself, but he his expression softened with gratitude.

"Thank you for this," he said, and Arthur must have heard the sincerity in his tone, because he simply nodded as his eyes searched Merlin's face.

"I'm glad you had fun," he reposed after a moment, and he leaned into the driver's side and pressed a welcomed kiss to Merlin's lips. He lingered close after the kiss had broken for a long time before Merlin ruined the moment.

"Oh, _now_ I get it," he said, powering through Arthur's curious look. "You try to butter me up by teaching me how to drive your car, just to get me alone somewhere far away so I'll _swoon_."

Arthur chortled as he sat back. "It worked, didn't it?" he asked, playing along.

"Yes. I have no defenses against your evil plan," Merlin mocked, quite literally throwing his upper half into Arthur's lap. "Look—I'm swooning and everything," he said, looking up at Arthur and settling in.

"Like you aren't doing the same with all those late night cooking tutorials," Arthur said, running his fingers through Merlin's hair. "I'm on to you, too, Emrys."

Merlin gave a loud, dramatic gasp. "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about!" he said, feigning offense. "I was just being a nice—no ulterior motive. I'm completely innocent."

"I'm sure," Arthur told him, though he didn't sound convinced.

"Prat."

Arthur leaned down and Merlin tilted his head up for another series of kisses, into which Merlin massaged his fingers onto the nape of Arthur's neck to gently hold him in place. He was contented to stay there for as long as time would allow.

Unfortunately, it didn't allow for much, because Arthur was reluctantly sitting up and casting a glance at the weakening sun.

"We'd better get back before anyone realizes we're gone," he said. "Besides, it's much different driving at night than in the day. We'll want to beat the sun. Think you can go more than forty this time?"

Merlin sat back up and repositioned himself at the wheel.

"Yes, _sir_," he said lightly, putting the car back into gear.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight.**

It had been nearly three weeks after Morgana had found Merlin, but she and Arthur hadn't yet found a way to get to him. On multiple occasions, whenever they passed a hospital when Morgana would drag him on an errand, Arthur found himself holding his breath, sure that she would yell _surprise_ any second and tell him to pull into its car park. It never happened, and Arthur would feel dejected as the building sunk away in the rearview—because that could have been the one. Those walls could have contained Merlin, and he'd never know how close Arthur was to him.

Sometimes frustration overtook Arthur, and he shouted at Morgana, demanding she tell him the name of the ward that instant, but she held firm, maintaining that it wasn't yet the right time. And he wanted to hate her for it, because he knew she'd been back with Uther. She'd seen Merlin again, while Arthur was still deprived.

One night in mid-August, after even the servants had gone to bed, Arthur snuck into the kitchen. He hadn't been there in Merlin's absence, and the hardwood floors and stone countertops looked somehow different in the minimal light of the waning moon. But he thought maybe if he switched on the ovens and attempted one of Merlin's recipes, it would bring him just that much closer to Merlin.

"Right," he thought aloud, flipping on the light and scanning the closed cupboards, wondering where the pots were. It probably wouldn't turn out as well as Merlin's, but he thought a summer spaghetti would be simple enough to make. Once he found a large pot, he filled it in the sink and set the gas stove on high, and added a dash of salt and oil to the water, like he'd learned. The pasta and vegetables were in the pantry, and he laid them out in a neat line on the counter before realizing he'd taken out too many ingredients. He'd only need to make one portion, and there was enough for two.

He didn't know why he didn't immediately put the extras back in the pantry, but he ignored them and set to chopping a zucchini on the cutting board. Across the room, the door creaked opened slowly, and Arthur froze. For a moment, he hoped it was somehow—impossibly—Merlin, coming to scold him for chopping incorrectly, but quickly realized it was probably a servant who had forgotten something.

It was neither.

A head of black, wavy hair peeked into the room unsurely, and Morgana gave him a stunned look before straightening out and opening the door completely.

"There you are. I've been looking for you," she said, letting the door swing shut behind her and pacing towards the island counter. She looked around the room like it belonged in a foreign country, and the look extended to Arthur. "What are you doing?"

"I—" Arthur stammered, suddenly feeling awkward. He busied himself by chopping the vegetable again. "I'm cooking."

"I didn't know you knew how to cook," she said, flabbergasted.

"Is there a reason you were looking for me?" he asked defensively, setting his fists, one of which still held the knife, on the counter and glaring over at her.

"_Yes_, actually," she responded in his tone, but her expression soon softened. "It's about Merlin."

Behind him, the water on the stove began to boil, making hissing and gurgling sounds, but he was ignorant to it.

"What's happened?" he asked at once, fearing the worst.

"Nothing, he's _fine_," Morgana said, relaxing him. "But I think I've found you a way into the hospital to see him."

Arthur let out something close to a gasp at the words.

"How?" he demanded, too late to realize he should use a kinder tone. However, Morgana didn't seem to notice. She pulled out a few rolled up pieces of paper from her silk dressing gown pocket and crossed to the other side of the counter to meet him.

She handed him the tube of papers, and he eagerly unrolled them, scanned the top page, and shuffled through the other two.

"These are Leon's papers," Arthur said, perplexed. "Census papers, draft records. Morgana—"

"It's _identification_," she clarified. "In order to visit a patient in the hospital, you have to check in. You have to put your name on a list to say you were there. Use Leon's."

"But why do I need his records for that?" Arthur challenged.

"Merlin's in an experimental ward. They're all hush-hush about what goes on in there," explained Morgana. "Just in case they ask for any proof of identification, you need those. They'll be good to have on hand. The hospital will never know who you are, and Father will never know you were there."

"And Leon's agreed to this?" Arthur asked, flipping through the papers again, studying them.

"Of course!" Morgana said, waving the thought away. "He wouldn't say no to me."

"No, you wouldn't let him," Arthur muttered, thinking over the plan. He looked back to her and asked, "Okay, where's the hospital? I'll go tomorrow."

"Oh, Arthur, truly. That's laughable," she chuckled, snatching the papers back from him. "You have to go with _me_, at least the first time. There's no reason for my fiancé to visit one of my household's former servants without me, is there?"

Arthur shook his head, finding fault in the scheme. "But you always go with Father."

She held up her finger like a brilliant idea had just come to her and said, "Ah, but Father will be in Paris this coming weekend, and he's asked me to check in on the ward in his absence. They'll be expecting me, and Father knows how much I _love_ his work, after all."

Arthur was shaking his head again, but this time in amazement of her. Then, of course, he remembered who he was talking to and neutralized his expression, not letting his wonderment on.

"Morgana, I don't know what to say," he told her. "Just—"

"No need to thank me," she said, holding up her palm to stop him. Then she reached over and pinched his cheek. "You've been such a good little errand boy lately."

Releasing him, she rolled up the papers again and set them on the counter.

"Your pot is boiling over, by the way," she said casually, and Arthur didn't understand what she was on about until the sizzling sound of steam reached him. He spun around on his heels, watching the water from his pot spit out and run down the silver sides until it met the orange and blue flames under the grating. He sprung towards it and turned down the flame until the water settled.

"Well, my work here is done," Morgana said smugly, tossing her hair over her shoulder and making towards the door. "Goodnight, dear brother."

Arthur watched her until he remembered the extra ingredients laid out on the counter.

"Wait, Morgana?" he called, waiting until he received her attention. "Do you—Would you like some pasta?"

She looked behind Arthur at the pot of water before her eyes flickered to the half-chopped zucchini on the cutting board, and she laughed a little hesitantly, but she stayed.

* * *

It was the longest week of Arthur's life. Every night, when he was presumed sleeping, he would take Leon's papers out of his bedside drawer and read over them until he'd memorized each word. Part of him knew it was in vain. After all, he'd be with Uther Pendragon's daughter, meaning the check-in process would be less harsh for him—if it was harsh for anyone at all—but he wanted to be absolutely prepared. He couldn't let on who he was really was and, for that, he needed to be ready to answer any of Leon's personal questions.

He had worked himself into a bundle of nerves by the time Friday night rolled around, and they waved Uther off, wishing him a safe trip across the Channel. He could barely sleep that night, even though he'd taken his prescribed sedative. He still tossed and turned, too wired with anticipation to close his eyes for a very long time. He drifted off some time around four in the morning and was awoken by George for breakfast three hours later. The prospect of eating a meal made his stomach turn, but he forced it down and, one hour later, he and Morgana were pulling out of Camelot Manor, headed towards town.

Morgana seemed quiet the entire ride over, only speaking to give him directions, and Arthur wondered why that was. Her plan would work. It _had_ to. And, if she had no confidence in it, how could he?

"Here it is," she told him, pointing through the windshield at a massive building behind large brick fencing. "Stop at the security point before the gate."

Arthur did as he was told, letting the engine idle as a security officer came out of his booth and hustled towards the car. Cranking down the window, Arthur gave him a smile that he hoped wasn't too nervous.

"Hello," he said, trying to be casual.

The guard bent down and peered into the car before asking, "Reason for your visit?"

"Yes, I'm Morgana Pendragon, Lord Pendragon's daughter," Morgana said from over Arthur, and the security guard immediately grew stiff and alert. "They're expecting me today."

"Yes, of course, Miss Pendragon," the guard said, and now he was the nervous one. "Can I just—May I see some ID? Rules, is all."

Morgana obliged, reaching over Arthur and handing the guard a piece of paper. He hardly scanned it before giving it back to her. Then his eyes fell pointedly on Arthur.

"This is my fiancé, Leon," Morgana said, placing her hand on Arthur's arm and curving her lips into a smile. "He'll be accompanying me inside."

Arthur tried to match Morgana's confident expression as he reached into his glove department and pulled out Leon's census papers. The guard unfolded them and glazed the top sheet before rolling them back up and handing them to Arthur without even drilling him on whether or not Leon's great-grandfather was born in Canterbury on the twenty-first of March, 1823.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said. "I'll open the gate to let you through."

Morgana thanked him, and he disappeared back into his police box. Seconds later, the wrought iron gate rattled on its chains and slid away, allowing Arthur to push the Continental up the winding drive towards the hospital.

Despite the manicured gardens and bright flowerbeds along the drive, the building itself was rather gloomy. It was tall and made of limestone that had grayed and yellowed over time. It was a few miles outside of town, and Arthur had only passed by it a few times while on the way to London, but he never gave it a second glance. If only he knew time would bring him to this place, perhaps he would have given it more thought.

The drive led them to a car park on the side of the building and, after Arthur killed the engine, they both sat still and silently for a few moments, waiting for the other to make the first move. Arthur closed his eyes into the quiet, trying to imagine Merlin's face when he saw Arthur for the first time in months. Would he be happy? angry? disappointed that Arthur had taken so long to find him?

Beyond that, what state would Merlin be in? Would he look the same, or would he be overtired and sickly? Morgana once mentioned that the patients slept for most of the time, and that fact hadn't occurred to Arthur until that moment. Would Merlin even be conscious?

"Ready?" Morgana broke the silence, still staring straight out the window towards the gray brick.

Arthur turned to her and nodded softly, pushing a smile.

"That makes one of us."

"Don't get cold feet _now_," he told her. "It's like you said, no one will ever know I'm there. You're in the clear."

"I don't have second thoughts. I know the plan will work," she said, looking down at her hands, folded on her lap, and fiddling with her fingers. "It's just—Arthur, there's something I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to obsess over it all week, but I should have warned you."

Arthur's stomach lurched, and he suddenly felt incredibly apprehensive.

"What is it?" he dared ask, and Morgana met his eyes tentatively.

"I saw Merlin again two weeks ago," she confessed. "He was awake this time, so I spoke with him."

Arthur's eyes lit up, wondering how this was bad news. "So, you told him I was looking for him? You said we were planning my visit?"

Morgana nodded but swallowed passed a lump in her throat. "Yes, but I don't think he'll remember it. I don't think he'll remember the conversation at all."

"Why?" Arthur asked, feeling queasy again.

"Arthur, it's not all the time, I'm sure. I've spoken to many of the patients, and they all have good and bad days," she prefaced. "But he seemed . . . _confused_. He kept talking to me like he didn't know where he was. He thought we were back at the manor."

Arthur let out a thoughtful scoff, staring off in the direction of the steering wheel. He didn't quite know what to think.

"It will probably be fine. Merlin's strong," Morgana said, placing her hand on him again, trying to comfort him. "But, well . . . I can't promise this will be one of his good days."

"No, you can't even promise me he'll be awake," Arthur snapped, jerking his arm away from Morgana's grip, and he regretted it immediately. He took in a breath to calm himself. "Maybe this was a bad idea," he said, scrubbing his face with his palms.

"You don't mean that," she said, and she was right. More than anything, Arthur wanted to see Merlin, and he'd deal with whatever consequences that brought later, but he couldn't deny how uneasy he now felt.

"Let's stay hopeful," Morgana coaxed. "We don't know if we don't try."

He considered putting the car back into gear and flooring it, but he agreed with her. She was the first out of the car, and he followed her up the walkway and through the glass doors of the hospital lobby. As soon as he passed the threshold, he was overcome with a sterile, putrid smell that did nothing for the butterflies in his stomach.

Apparently, the guard had phoned up and told the staff Morgana was coming, because the woman behind the counter knew her by name, and told ask her to wait one moment. Morgana led Arthur to the row of chairs, which was empty save for one other man with a hacking cough, next to the window. Arthur bounced his legs, not able to control them, and Morgana shot him a look before picking up a magazine. She barely flipped through the first article when a young man in a white lab coat and carrying a clipboard came through the double doors on the other end of the room and strode towards them.

"Miss Pendragon?" he asked, and Morgana beamed at him as both she and Arthur stood up. "I'm Mordred Parker. I'll be accompanying you around the ward today." He looked at Arthur a bit unsurely and let out a soft, questioning, "Um?"

"Oh, this is Leon," Morgana explained. "He's my fiancé."

"Oh, well," Mordred started, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry, Miss Pendragon, but he's not cleared to be in the treatment rooms. I can't allow—"

"Nonsense!" Morgana said, cutting him off. "He won't be joining us. He's just my chauffer for the day, isn't that right, darling? No, he'll be waiting here in the lobby."

When Mordred relaxed, Morgana played her part well by biting her lower lip in thought and asking in a low voice, "Actually, before we begin anything official, Mordred—It is Mordred, yes? Anyway. Mordred. One of my family's servants is a patient here. Well, I say servant, but I grew up with the boy. Leon and I have become very fond of him, actually. We were wondering . . . Well, is there a chance we might visit him quickly? Even if he were sleeping, we'd just like to see him. It would mean so much."

Arthur held his breath, and the moments between the question and the answer seemed to stretch out for a century before Mordred brightened amicably and said, "I don't see why that would be a problem. What's the name of the patient?"

"Uh, Merlin Emrys," Morgana said, and Mordred's smile turned genuine.

"Ah, yes, Merlin. He's actually under my care," he said, and Arthur wasn't sure if Mordred sounded boastful or pedantic. Either way, he consulted the clipboard in his hand and said, "You're in luck! Merlin just got out of treatment. He isn't scheduled for DST for another few hours."

"Fabulous!" Morgana cheered, casting a happy look to Arthur.

Arthur tried to grin back, but his head was swimming with excitement and nervousness. It was all so real now. Merlin was upstairs, without a clue that Arthur was on his way up, and Arthur had no idea what he'd be faced with once he got to him. Arthur felt like tearing the doors open and running outside for air, but Mordred was being extremely prompt and helpful.

"I can take you to him now," he offered, and Morgana told him to lead the way.

Arthur hung back for a moment longer than he should have, taking deep breaths in attempt to calm his mind. He absolutely convinced himself in that moment that he'd be ready for anything, but he was only lying to himself. In truth, he expected the same old Merlin, with his goofy grin and tousled hair and annoyingly loveable flair. He just wanted Merlin, not a Merlin-shaped creature filled up by the stench of the hospital.

Steeling himself, he followed after his sister.

* * *

The sun had come out. It was peeking its golden rays through the rainclouds, scattering the gray and leaving small patches of blue sky in its wake. It wasn't much, but it was more sunshine than Merlin had seen in what felt like ages.

He sat in the metal chair next to his bed, staring out the window blankly, letting the sun warm his skin, but it was little use. He still shivered, and his head still throbbed. Lingering surges of electricity tingled his fingers and toes so that they ached when he tried to curl them. The bones were too brittle and the muscles too sluggish, but he kept at it. He held his hand spread out in front of his face, slowly closing and opening his fingers. He was so fixated on the process that he barely heard the door open.

"Merlin?" said a familiar voice, and he looked up to find Mordred standing in the threshold. There was only one reason he would have come by. Merlin looked down at his lap and accepted his fate.

"Bed time already?" he muttered in a hoarse voice, and closed his eyes against the sunlight. He wished he could stay up to enjoy it.

"No, not quite," Mordred told him. "You have visitors."

Merlin's eyes flew open. Who would be visiting him? The only person who ever stopped by was his mother, and that was only the once. After how that had ended, he doubted she'd be back, even though he hoped.

Just as he was about to ask who it was, Mordred stepped aside and the last person Merlin ever expected to see strode through. Morgana looked immaculate against the backdrop, far too pristine to be in a place so godforsaken, and the clicking of her heels against the tile brought back so many memories of Camelot Manor.

However, she wasn't alone. Only a few steps behind her, carrying himself tensely, was Arthur.

Merlin's breath caught in throat at the sight of him, and he was very lucky Mordred hadn't seen it. He wanted to jump up from his seat and run into Arthur's arms, to kiss him everywhere and tell him how much he missed him, how he never gave up on waiting for Arthur to find him. But he found he could not move. He could only stare, his eyes fixed on Arthur, taking in every detail. His hair was fairer than he recalled, and his eyes bluer, but the rest was unchanged. He looked exhausted, but well.

Merlin wondered if he were asleep already.

Arthur's eyes swept to Merlin as soon as he walked into the room, searching him up and down in the way Merlin suddenly remembered so well. All Arthur's quirks and details came to the forefront of Merlin's mind, all at once—things he hated himself for forgetting, things he didn't even know he'd forgotten.

"Oh, _Leon_! Look how well he looks," Morgana exclaimed, pacing towards Merlin and bending down to be in his eye level.

Merlin blinked rapidly at this, his eyes ricocheting from Morgana to Arthur, who had stayed behind. Why had she called him Leon? No. That wasn't Leon. That was _Arthur_. He had the same eyes. Merlin _knew_ it was Arthur.

"Doesn't he look well, darling?" Morgana asked, looking over her shoulder at Arthur, who swallowed and nodded in such a way that made Merlin aware of just how unwell he actually looked.

He didn't feel well either. His head was pounding even more now and, even though Arthur was standing right in front of him, his features began to blur and darken. No matter how much Merlin focused on them, they remained fuzzy in his memory.

Gwen had kept her promise to him. They met whenever they could, and she told him stories of Lance and Merlin talked of Arthur. They tried to keep each other's memories in tact, but it was so hard when they only saw each other every so often. Merlin sometimes felt himself slipping in the intervals, like he was grasping at fraying strings.

"How are you feeling, Merlin?" Morgana was asking, but she sounded miles away. There was a buzzing noise in Merlin's eardrums that he tried to shake and swat away.

"I—" he stammered, not sure what to say or how to say it.

"Why won't he answer?" Morgana asked tersely, but the man with her didn't speak. He looked stunned into silence.

"I'm sorry, Miss. He always gets a little muddled after his treatment," Mordred said apologetically. "I hope this hasn't worried you. I—I should have realized. Perhaps we'd better move on?"

"Of course," Morgana said, the sound of her heels blaring as she walked back over. "And you can tell me _why_ this treatment has this sort of side effect."

She turned to Arthur/Leon, who was still staring at Merlin blankly.

"Are you coming?" she asked, and Merlin felt his heart plummet.

He needed more time. He needed to figure out how to distinguish Arthur from Leon. He tried to place Leon's face now, hoping to find Arthur in who he was _not_, but he remembered Leon even less.

"Um, actually—_dear_," the man said, ripping his eyes away from Merlin, "since I can't accompany you anyway, I—I was hoping I might be able to visit a little more?"

Morgana shrugged. "I have no problem with that," she said nonchalantly before turning her eyes on Mordred. "Would that be okay?"

Mordred looked unsure for a moment, but he nodded under Morgana's intense glare.

"Of course," he said with a professional smile.

"Excellent!" Morgana said, sounding cheerful again. "Then, Leon, darling, I'll meet you back in lobby in, let's say, one half hour?" She narrowed her eyes at him, looking at him meaningfully, and he nodded.

And that didn't make sense. Merlin hardly knew Leon. Why would he want to spend more time with him?

His breathing became uncontrolled, and he felt himself start to panic.

"Feel better soon, Merlin," Morgana called to him with a wave, and she breezed passed Mordred. "Shall we?" she said over her shoulder. Mordred cast one more wary look into the room before following her out and closing the door behind him.

And for a long moment there was silence. External silence, anyway. Merlin's thoughts were screaming, battling on whether or not the man who stood before him, now stock-still and red-eyed, was Arthur or Leon.

Merlin didn't notice at first that the man was moving. Slowly, he walked closer to Merlin's chair, and he knelt in front of it, searching his surroundings before finally locking onto Merlin's eyes.

"Merlin," he said shakily, and all doubts fell away. This was Arthur. No one said Merlin's name quite like Arthur did—like it was made to be said by him and him alone.

"Arthur," he said surely, and Arthur's face cracked with a smile as he let out something between a sob and a laugh.

He shot upwards on his knees and buried his face into Merlin's chest, breathing him in, before leaning up higher and pecking frantic kisses to Merlin's lips and cheeks and any piece of skin he could find. And Merlin's heart could have burst from happiness.

"Oh, god, Merlin," Arthur said, sitting back on his ankles and hugging Merlin's knees tightly. He rested his cheek on Merlin's lap, and Merlin groomed his fingers through the head of golden hair.

"I thought I'd lost you."

"Me?" Merlin asked with a grin. "No, you'll have to try harder."

Arthur lifted his head again and beamed up at Merlin like he put the stars in the sky.

"You look bloody awful," Arthur told him, and Merlin laughed. He'd forgotten he knew how to do that.

"God, I do, don't I?" Merlin said, running this fingers through his hair in attempt to tame it. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"At least I get to see you," Arthur told him. "I'm glad for that."

Merlin cupped Arthur's cheeks in his palms and ran his thumbs across his lower lip, getting his feel back for the lines and curves.

"You're freezing," Arthur said, placing his hand on top of Merlin's, attempting to transfer the heat of his skin.

"Not anymore," Merlin told him, but Arthur didn't listen. He jumped to his feet and sauntered to the bed, off of which he pulled the top sheet and held it up by the corners.

"Come here, we'll get you right," Arthur said.

They cozied up on the floor in the corner next to the door, that way no one would be able to see them through its window. Arthur draped the blanket on their shoulders and brought the ends together around them. He put an arm across Merlin's waist, pulling him in close to his side, and Merlin wrapped both arms tightly around Arthur's torso. He kept his head tilted on Arthur's shoulder, smiling contentedly and straining his eyes to stay on Arthur's face. He memorized every feature and stowed it away for later.

Arthur seemed to give off his own warmth, and Merlin was toasty in no time. He ripped his gaze from Arthur only for a moment to bury his nose into Arthur's shoulder. He smelled like cologne mixed with motor oil, with lingering hints of the manor. It was strange to have such a familiar scent fill Merlin up in this place, but it smelled like home.

After a long while of happy silence, he asked, "How have you been?" mostly just to hear Arthur's haughty, educated voice again, but also because he needed an answer. He needed to know Arthur was alright. "I worried that you'd been sent away, too."

"No, I've been in the manor," Arthur said, drumming his fingers against Merlin's side. "I've been seen to there. I've more psychiatrists than I can count, and they had me on medication for awhile, but they've become more lenient."

Merlin smirked at this. "You've tricked them."

"I suppose," said Arthur. "I'm just happy I don't have _George_ hovering over me anymore."

Merlin furrowed his brow at the name. Judging by the way Arthur had said it, he wasn't too fond of this person. "Who's _George_?"

"Oh, he's—" Arthur began, a little awkward now. "He's my new manservant. Although, sometimes I think he's more like a spy for my father."

The news really shouldn't have made Merlin's heart sink as much as it did. After all, he figured Uther would get someone to take his place. Arthur was hopeless without someone to launder his socks or clean his room. But Merlin was contented to have that new servant remain faceless and nameless. He did not want to know the identity of his replacement; he just wanted to know Arthur was being looked after.

"Is he any good?" Merlin asked, trying to sound carefree.

"Actually, yes," Arthur admitted, which made Merlin hate his George character even more. "He's possibly the most efficient servant in all of England . . . I can't stand him."

A satisfied smirk came to Merlin quite involuntarily.

"What about you?" Arthur asked, looking down at the top of Merlin's hair. "What's the big experiment?"

Merlin's expression dropped, but he wouldn't let Arthur see.

"I'm told it has something to do with sleep?" Arthur probed.

Nodding against his shoulder, Merlin said, "Mostly. I'm asleep more than I'm awake. They really only wake me up to talk to the doctor—and to give me my medication."

"You haven't got to take any chemical castration?" Arthur asked wryly. "Oh, god, that stuff is _horrific_."

Merlin snorted a laugh, his eyes flickering to the bed in the middle of the room.

"I'm supposed to be," he confided. "I don't actually take the pills whenever I can help it."

Arthur shuffled to get a better look at him, and Merlin grinned up at him cheekily.

"You little sneak," Arthur chided facetiously.

"Don't complain," Merlin told him, reinforcing it with a kiss that Arthur hummed into.

"No, I won't," he conceded. "But what else? What's this treatment I keep hearing of?"

This time, Arthur saw Merlin's features darken, and worry passed over his eyes as he lifted his head off the wall.

"Merlin?"

"It's nothing," Merlin said, pushing a low wattage smile to his face. He didn't look at Arthur directly, but instead busied himself by fingering at the fabric of Arthur's shirt.

"Merlin, tell me," Arthur said, worry lines appearing on his face.

"It's fine, really," Merlin said, sounding perhaps a bit more frustrated than he intended. He withdrew his arms from Arthur and sat upright, and something in his posture must have concerned Arthur further, because he placed an open palm between Merlin's shoulder blades and leaned in. The touch made Merlin shiver.

"It's electrotherapy," Merlin told him, licking the moisture back into his lips.

Arthur looked stunned again, and then outraged. "_What_?"

"It's fine!" Merlin lied, trying to placate him. "It's not bad, honestly. It sounds a lot scarier than it is."

"Is that right?" Arthur said like he didn't believe it. He reached over and brushed his fingers against the red marks on Merlin's temple. "Is that what this is from?" When Merlin nodded, Arthur dropped his hand and shook his head decisively. "I swear, the next time I see my father—"

"You won't tell him you saw me," Merlin made perfectly clear. "Those doctors of yours won't be very nice anymore if you do. Don't make things worse for yourself."

Arthur sighed heavily, knowing that Merlin was right. Before he could say anything else, Merlin leaned back and placed the back of his head on Arthur lap, grinning up at him with as much cheeriness as he could stimulate in a weak attempt to improve Arthur's mood.

"I don't want to talk about it," he insisted. "Don't get worked up. Please. I'm fine."

"Liar," Arthur murmured, so Merlin grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles.

Arthur's eyes flickered to the far wall where the analogue clock hung, and he dropped his shoulders in defeat. "It's almost half-passed," he said ruefully. "Morgana's tour will be done soon. They'll be looking for me—and you."

Merlin tried to look okay with this, but he was dreading the moment he'd have to let Arthur go. Still, recalling the last time someone had barged in on them, he knew being proactive was their best course of action. His holiday in Valhalla had to come to an end.

"This is all my fault," Arthur said miserably, and his same guilt caused a twinge in Merlin's chest.

"Don't you start," he answered, reaching a hand to the nape of Arthur's neck. The muscles were tight. "It's not your fault your father doesn't know how to knock."

The corners of Arthur's lips twitched at this. "I'll have to put a lock on my door so you'll have time to hide in the cupboard next time."

_Next time_.

Merlin closed his eyes slowly at the words. He couldn't foresee anything but the cold white walls on the inside of the hospital.

"Yeah," he said anyway.

"Mm. Okay, I'm getting up," Arthur convinced himself, a hint of finality in his tone, and Merlin sat up again as he started to shift. When they were standing again, Arthur draped the blanket loosely over Merlin's shoulders.

"I'll be back soon," he promised, holding Merlin at the waist and kissing the tip of his nose. Merlin allowed himself to relish the contact, but the words left him disheartened.

"That's what Mum said," he could stop himself from saying, and Arthur looked hurt.

He touched his forehead to Merlin's and skewed his eyes closed. "I _mean_ it," he insisted, and Merlin wanted to believe him. It was hard not to when he was holding him like that. "You'll see."

"I'd better," Merlin challenged. "Now, go—before someone comes looking for you."

The demand was forgotten in a few minutes of hopeless kissing, but Merlin eventually remembered it and turned his head away. Arthur only responded by kissing down his neck.

"Go, I'll be alright," Merlin laughed, not trying very hard at all to detach himself from Arthur, and he supposed he was giving mixed signals when he grabbed the blanket on his shoulders and tented it over both their heads. "You worry too much. You're like a mother hen."

Arthur snorted into his collarbone before extracting himself to look Merlin in the eyes. "That's a strange thing to say about the man kissing you."

"Only because it's true," Merlin reposed, and Arthur rolled his eyes before pulling the blanket back down and readjusting it on Merlin.

"Fine. One last," he said, pressing a long kiss to Merlin before lacing their fingers together at their side and stepping back.

"Until next time," Merlin finished for him hopefully, and Arthur nodded. "Love you."

"And you."

Arthur walked backwards, not letting go of Merlin's hand until they were too far apart, and not looking away until he had to open the door and turn down the corridor. Merlin willed himself with every iota of strength he had left not tear from the room and sprint after Arthur.

Instead, he closed his eyes, remembering Arthur's face, and letting the tingling sensation of Arthur's lips still dancing on his skin overcome him. He stood like that for a long while before resuming his place in the chair next to the window, where he saw the rain clouds rolling in over the nearby hills.

* * *

_1__st__ January, 1946_

"Alright, you," Merlin grunted as he hoisted Arthur one last step and deposited him on the bed. Arthur groaned into his sheets as he tensed and squirmed, trying to get comfortable.

"Hold still," Merlin demanded, trying to grab Arthur at the ankles to unlace his shoes. "If you vomit, I'm not cleaning it up until morning. It's much too late for that—or early."

Merlin cast a glance over his shoulder towards the window, outside of which he saw the calm in-between moments of night and day. The sun's golden beams peeked out over the hills, spreading the cool blue of dawn, which blended with the lessening blackness of night towards the zenith. On the opposite horizon, the moon hung low and stubborn scattered stars still twinkled through the void.

"Where's your sense of holiday spirit!" Arthur yelled merrily, slurring his words and making Merlin roll his eyes.

"I think you might have drank it," he shot back, and Arthur laughed with abandon as he rolled over onto his back. Merlin's eyes flickered upwards, scanning his body clandestinely. Arthur's flushed cheeks were apparent even in the shadows cast by the bedside table's lamp, like even the darkness held no power over his features, and he was staring up at the ceiling with a musing smile on his face.

Merlin forced himself to look away and collect Arthur's shoes in his hands.

"You know," Arthur said as Merlin shoved the shoes into the wardrobe. "I didn't kiss anyone at midnight, Merlin. I didn't get my New Year's kiss."

"Really?" Merlin said dispassionately before yawning. He was back at the bed now, making Arthur sit up in order to take off his loosened tie. Arthur offered no resistance, but he swayed droopily.

"Nope," he said with an exaggerated shake of his head. "I haven't been kissed _all year_!"

His breath smelled like warm, stale whiskey and too much champagne as he huffed the words into Merlin's personal space. Merlin held his breath against it and closed his eyes, but all he saw behind his lids were images of Arthur dancing with pretty girls from the party, Arthur draping himself over their shoulders, Arthur laughing and flirting . . .

"Well, you could have had your pick of any of the girls here tonight," Merlin said, trying not to sound bitter, as he unbuttoned Arthur's shirt.

"I didn't want to kiss any of those girls," Arthur told him, leaning in a little closer. "There was only one person _I_ wanted to kiss. And, I'll give you a hint, he's in this room right now."

"Yeah? Your reflection?" Merlin asked, his tone still impassive, and he tried to focus on what he was doing with the promise of going to sleep as soon as possible. His fingers flew down the buttons of Arthur's shirt but, just before he got to the bottom, Arthur snatched at his wrists and held them in place.

Merlin glanced up at him through his lashes, finding a strange expression on Arthur's face. He looked captivated, his eyes a mixture between tenderness and anxiety. It was a look Merlin had seen rarely, and only from a distance—across a room or when Arthur thought he was wasn't looking. His skin tingled every time Arthur looked at him like that, but he tried not to dwell on it. The look meant nothing—_could _mean nothing.

And yet Merlin could see the intent behind that look in the close proximity. It made his eyes drag downward to Arthur's lips. Arthur was breathing him in and filling the space between them. He nosed at Merlin and, like a gravitational pull, Merlin tilted his head towards his mouth.

The images of all others at the party fell away, until all Merlin could remember from that night was Arthur. The way their eyes met from across the parlor whenever there was a lull in conversation, and Arthur's gaze would seek out Merlin, staring over his drink as the rim of his glass rested on his lower lip; the flashes of neon colors, tinting his skin and reflecting in his eyes, as the fireworks bloomed overhead in the garden; the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes whenever he talked to one of those girls . . .

Arthur let out a musical laugh and the kiss broke, swaying Merlin off balance for a moment.

"That means _you_," Arthur said, sounding more inebriated than ever. He made a tired, satisfied humming sound as he fell backwards on his pillow, and he instantly closed his eyes.

"Goodnight, Merlin. New Year's kiss Merlin," he sang before nuzzling into the pillow.

Merlin stood up slowly but couldn't bring himself to take the first step out of the room. His mind should have been buzzing, but it was surprisingly blank, as he lingered for a moment longer than he should have, staring down fixedly at Arthur.

Finally, he shut off the lamp and his feet shuffled him towards the door. He closed it gently, as to not make a noise, before turning around and leaning heavily against it. The corridor was vacant and silent, nothing but the sun's dancing orange light flooding the hardwood, and the reality of what had just happened caught up with him.

A grin cracked his face, but he tried to fight it back.

This wouldn't last. Arthur was drunk and there was a good chance he wouldn't remember this in the morning—and that was the best-case scenario. If he did remember it, Merlin would have to tread lightly. Their relationship wouldn't be the same. It would become awkward and strained, and that was only if Arthur didn't fire him first.

Because, even if Arthur had fallen for Merlin the same way Merlin had—_stupidly_—fallen for him, there was nothing either of them could do about it. Arthur was in the limelight. His entire life was planned for him, and Merlin had no place in it other than to get the chores taken care of. Nothing could happen between them.

Nothing.

But something just had, and it made Merlin's heart flutter. Whatever was to come tomorrow, Arthur had kissed him that night.

Merlin clapped his hand over his lips and let his smile free.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine.**

Morgana gave a smile and a wave to the guard in the police box as they drove passed, but her expression fell as soon as they cleared the drive.

"You'll never guess what I found out," she said suddenly and forebodingly, as though she was waiting for the second they got off the hospital grounds, and away from meddling ears, to tell him.

"Is it about the electrotherapy?" Arthur asked gloomily from behind the wheel of the car. He had hoped Morgana had learned more about the treatment than him. If he couldn't get answers out of Merlin, Morgana was his only hope. She'd learn all she could about the patients' treatments without Uther there to stop her from asking questions—or at least that's what Arthur was counting on.

"Oh," Morgana said, crestfallen. "So, you know already?"

Arthur knew she wouldn't let him down.

"Not enough," he told her, casting his eyes away from the road to look at her. "Tell me more about it. Merlin wouldn't say anything. He'd hardly even look at me when I tried to bring it up. Morgana, isn't that some kind of torture?"

"Of course not!" she assured him. "Doctors have been doing it for years. It has its benefits. Well . . . Maybe not the way _they're_ doing it, but . . ." she admitted, letting her voice drift off.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Arthur demanded urgently.

"It seemed to me that, after a patient has been there for some time, they're put through treatment at least once a day," she informed him, and he would have driven the car off the road if he hadn't been gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

"Once a _day_?" he repeated in shock. "Not Merlin?"

"I don't know."

"But _why_?" Arthur powered on. "Why on Earth would they do that _every_ day? What's the point of it all?"

"Apparently, it's to—," she straightened her posture, and her voice took on a professional litany, like she was repeating the words verbatim, "—break down the brain tissue and collapse the mind's associations to the undesired behavior in order to promote more positive behavior."

"And what does that mean in English?" Arthur asked, pinching the bridge of his nose to stifle the headache coming on, as Morgana settled back into her seat.

"Basically, they're frying the patients' brains like scrambled eggs until they have a mental breakdown," she explained, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

Arthur stomped on the break, making the car lurch forward and screech to a halt in the middle of the road. The single car behind them blared its horn, but Arthur paid it no mind. He was too busy gaping at Morgana.

"They _what_?" he yelled through bared teeth. "That's why Merlin was so out of it when we first saw him today? That's why you said he was confused? They're trying to rewire his mind to forget me!"

"Arthur, it's not all about _you_," she said with some sympathy. "They're trying to make him forget anything that has to do with his sexuality."

"So, what, after his nervous break, they're going to _teach_ him how to be _straight_?" Arthur said, grinding his teeth, and the car behind them honked again.

She merely blinked at him and said in a composed manner, "You have to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! You always hate it when I tell _you_ to calm down!" he snapped as the driver behind them lost his patience and drove around them.

Despite Arthur's irritation at Morgana's words, he forced himself to take a breath.

"Why all the sleeping?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes in attempt to focus. "The medication, I can understand, but what does the sleeping do?"

Morgana regarded him with hesitation, which only made him more anxious.

"Because," she began, not wanting to set him off again, "people in comas can't fight against the electrotherapy."

Arthur sat back in his seat, staggered. He felt her words lay on him like a weight.

"I told you, the patients are put through ECT once a day," she continued, "they just don't know it."

Arthur shook his head idly, staring off in thought. "How can Father allow this?" he posed to no one in particular. "How is this even legal?"

"It's purely experimental," Morgana said as though that could console him and explain everything, but he wasn't interested in that.

"Will it _work_?" he stressed.

"I don't know," she said again. "They seem to have a pretty good success rate, but who knows if the effects are long lasting? Besides, this is Merlin we're talking about. When has he _ever_ done anything he's supposed to? He'll fight this."

Arthur had half a mind to turn the car around, but instead he smacked the steering wheel with his open palm so hard that he was certain it left a red mark beneath his driving gloves.

"I've just left him there," he brooded. "He's terrified of that treatment, and I left him."

"He told you that?" Morgana wondered.

"Of course not," Arthur told her ruefully. "He's always so damn cryptic about everything, but I know him. He was scared."

"Arthur," she said soothingly, leaning in and wrapping her fingers across his forearm. "There's nothing you could have done."

"I could have tried," he said with conviction. "I _still_ have to try _something_."

Morgana let out a sigh and released him, sitting back. She knew it was best not to argue the point. "Well, until you think of that _something_, make sure to keep your visits a secret," she said, back in her usual manner. "You can't let Father know you've snuck into a hospital just to kiss a man again."

Arthur suddenly felt embarrassment burning in his gut and heating his cheeks, and he busied himself by putting the car back into gear. "Who says we _kissed_?" he muttered in a weak defense.

Morgana shot him a raised brow. "You better have," she said bluntly. "I didn't stick my neck out for you for nothing. I'm wrapped up in this now, too, and if we go down, we go down together, so you better make it count. And, like I said, try not to get caught."

"I'm _not_ going to get caught!" Arthur droned irritably as he drove.

"Is that the same thing you told Merlin right before Father caught you in bed with him?" she rebuked, and Arthur let out a choking sound.

"That is _none_ of your business!" he told her, bristling slightly. "And neither is the kissing . . ."

She gave a curt "_humph_!" and turned back to the windshield.

* * *

_16__th__ February, 1946_

Plumes of gray smoke unfurled from the oven as Arthur opened it wide, and he peered in at the blackened puff in the white casserole dish within.

"Oh, _damn_," he cursed just as Merlin walked by to see what was going on. He coughed theatrically and waved the smoke away from his face.

"What happened there?" he asked with a raised brow. Instead of waiting for an answer, he made for the cookbook on the island counter and quickly scanned the lines on the opened page with his index finger. "Did you remember the egg whites?" he asked.

"_Yes_, I remembered the egg whites," Arthur said in frustration as he closed the oven and slid the pastry onto the counter.

Merlin abandoned the recipe and folded his arms across his chest, surveying Arthur with amused caution. "It's alright," he said. "Soufflés are never easy to make on the first attempt."

"Yes, but this is my third attempt," Arthur reminded him.

"I was being kind," Merlin countered, seeming humored, but it only strengthened Arthur's aggravation.

"I'm never going to get this right," he said, throwing his hands up. "You'll learn how to work the telly before I can do this!"

Merlin furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose. "I can work the telly."

"Oh, really?" Arthur challenged. "You _do_ know smacking it isn't actually how to turn it on?"

Merlin puckered his lips and skewed his eyes up to look at the ceiling in the most adorable display of consideration, and it made Arthur forget his frustration altogether.

"Alright, fine," Merlin conceded. "You're on. I bet I can figure out how to turn on the television before you can make a proper soufflé."

Arthur hadn't heard a word he said. He was too distracted by the thought of the puckered lips, but Merlin was holding his hand out for a shake to seal the deal.

In a split-second decision, Arthur clasped Merlin's hand and yanked him in until their lips crashed together forcefully. His eyes were closed, so he didn't exactly see Merlin's shocked expression, but he felt Merlin physically relax and ease into the kiss. As it lingered, he held his palms to Merlin's cheeks, feeling his clean-shaven, flawless skin; and Merlin's fingers were firmly clutching either of Arthur's biceps.

However, Merlin seemed to remember himself after a moment, and pushed Arthur away.

"What are you doing?" he reprimanded, his dilated pupils scanning the room to make sure no one was around. "Arthur! You said—After New Year's, we—we agreed that it was best if we didn't—"

"Best for _who_?" Arthur whispered intimately, taking a step back into Merlin's space.

"I—" Merlin stammered, letting out unsure noises, and Arthur wished he could be stumbling over Merlin's tongue for him.

"I don't know!" Merlin admitted. "It was _your_ idea!"

"I know," Arthur said with a nod. "It was a stupid idea. After what just happened, I'd say you think so, too."

Merlin let escape some more uncertain, whimpering sounds from his throat.

"Oh, come on, _Mer_lin!" Arthur said, throwing his head back. "We've been dancing around each other for over a month. Aren't you tired of it?"

"Yes," Merlin allowed, looking pained. "But this is a _bad_ idea, Arthur. It—"

He trailed off when Arthur cupped his palm softly beneath Merlin's jaw.

"You're not very convincing, Merlin," he said, and he took it slowly this time, giving Merlin more than enough time to break away—but he didn't, and his lips trembled against Arthur's in clear wanting.

"It's a very bad idea," he breathed into the close proximity. "You'll change your mind again."

"I'll what?" Arthur asked in confusion.

"You'll change your mind. You'll wake up tomorrow and regret it and—," he twisted his eyes shut and shook his head, "—don't _do_ that to me, Arthur."

"I won't," Arthur assured him. "The only thing I regretted last time was saying it couldn't happen again. And here we are."

"Here we are," Merlin echoed, and he let out a bitter breath of laughter as he said, "But it won't last. You'll change your mind about _me_."

"Why would you say that?" asked Arthur, taken aback. "I've never changed my mind about you."

"Really?" Merlin said dryly, unconvinced. "Because, when we first met, I seem to recall you thinking I was an idiot."

"I _still_ think you're an idiot," Arthur said lightly, shrugging. "But an irresistible one. _My_ irresistible idiot . . ."

Merlin mooned over at him, and Arthur was about to kiss him again when a light from the dining room switched on and cast a line of illumination from the wide crack beneath the door on the kitchen floor. The soft patter of footsteps could be heard crossing the room, headed towards the kitchen.

Arthur looked around wildly, searching for a way out or a place to hide, and Merlin's eyes had gone wide, too, but he recovered first.

"Get down!" he hissed as loud as he dared, but Arthur didn't follow.

"_What_?"

"Get—_down_!" he said again, placing his open palm onto the top of Arthur's head and pushing him to his knees beneath the counter; and Arthur had to admit that he had some very interesting thoughts in the moment, but he contained himself, as this was neither the time nor place, and instead looked up at Merlin, who had grabbed a damp cloth and was attempting to look busy by wiping up the loose flour from the countertop.

When the sound of the door opening reached Arthur, Merlin looked up as though he hadn't heard anyone coming and said with what was no doubt supposed to be a pleasant smile, "Mother!"

His tone sounded guilty to Arthur, but he prayed Hunith wouldn't notice.

"Merlin, you weren't in your room. I was wondering where you'd gotten off to," came Hunith's voice as the door swung closed behind her. She sounded a little unsure as she asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm," Merlin began, looking about the counter. "I'm making a soufflé."

"You _burnt_ a soufflé," she said, somewhat flabbergasted.

"_Yeah_," Merlin answered shortly, narrowing his eyes.

"Why are you making a soufflé at half-passed one in the morning?" she questioned in a concerned tone.

Merlin inverted his lips before smacking them in thought. "I was hungry," was the best he could come up with, and he shrugged with a nervous laugh.

"So you made a dish that takes two hours to bake?" Hunith wondered.

He clamped his jaw shut noisily.

"Well . . . I wasn't _that_ hungry."

There was a heavy pause into which Arthur could only lessen his breathing and imagine Hunith's surveying glances of her son.

"Merlin, are you alright?" she asked softly, and the sound of her feet echoed across the hardwood again as she approached the other side of the island counter. "You're not overworked, are you?"

"What? No!" he insisted, and Arthur saw him tense more with each of Hunith's steps.

"I know how demanding Arthur can be," she continued, trying to pry it out of him, and Arthur couldn't help to but feel a little offended.

_Demanding?_ he mouthed back to himself.

"You have no idea," Merlin muttered blandly. Arthur opened his mouth like he was about to yell but, thinking better of it, he instead punched Merlin in calf. It really shouldn't have been hard enough to elicit a reaction from Merlin, but he stumbled slightly, and Arthur rolled his eyes silently at him.

Judging by the large grin now plastered on Merlin's face, clearly over-compensating with too much cheeriness, Hunith was giving him another concerned once over, but she didn't question after it.

"Would you like help cleaning up?" she asked instead.

"No, no, I'm fine, Mum," he lied easier now, obviously having anticipated the question, and went back to scrubbing the counter. "You go on. I'll be—," he paused to let out a loud yawn, which seemed like overkill to Arthur, "—I'll be down in a minute."

"Okay," she said, and her footsteps sounded again, this time receding. She stopped at the door to say, "Get some rest, sweetheart."

"I will," he told her, puffing out his chest and giving her a playful two-fingered salute that appeared to be a subconscious act. "Goodnight."

After the door had fully swung closed and Hunith's footfalls no longer echoed through the dining room, Merlin deflated with a sigh, and Arthur popped up from behind the counter.

"You know, Merlin, if we're going to keep this up, we really ought to work on your lying skills," he said in earnest.

Merlin blew out his lips as he resumed cleaning. "I know," he agreed under his breath. When Arthur visibly brightened, Merlin realized what he'd said.

"I mean, _no_!" he tried to correct himself. "No, I don't, because it's a bad idea, Arthur!"

He kept saying that, but he never provided any examples as to why it was such a horrific proposal; not like the reasons weren't clear to Arthur, too.

Merlin took the burnt soufflé and headed for the bin to dispose of it, and Arthur said, "What if I think you're worth the risk?"

At this, the line of Merlin's shoulders turned rigid, and he turned around stiffly to look at Arthur with an annoyed expression.

"Are you trying to _flatter _me?"

Arthur folded his arms and leaned onto the countertop, giving a sideways smirk that he'd acquired from years of observing Morgana. "Is it _working_?"

Merlin gave him a look that told him it was absolutely working and he wasn't happy about it. Arthur understood it was time to bow out gracefully and leave Merlin alone with his thoughts.

"Look," Arthur leveled with him, taking the long way around the counter so he'd have to pass Merlin on the way to the door. He stopped in front of Merlin as he said, "Just _think_ about it?"

Merlin looked thoughtful for a beat before shaking out his hands nervously and saying, "No. Because if I do that, I'll _over_ think it and get paranoid and the answer will be a _definite_ no."

Maybe it was the fumes from the smoldering pastry, but Arthur's outlook on that statement was positive.

"_And_?" he probed, his brows shooting up to his hairline.

"And," Merlin said slowly, sounding as though he were carefully planning every word, "I don't _want_ it to be a no."

His eyes flickered to Arthur, who couldn't stop himself from beaming smugly. The grin was infectious.

"Shut up," Merlin sang.

Arthur raised his palms innocently. "I didn't say a word."

"You didn't need to."

Merlin bit at his lower lip, which Arthur didn't blame him for, as he wanted to bite Merlin's lip, too. But he restricted himself to another kiss, simply because he could, and Merlin didn't argue.

"Goodnight, Merlin," he bid almost teasingly before starting out of the kitchen. He didn't need eyes in the back of his head to know Merlin was shaking his head at him.

"You know, you're lucky you're so attractive!" Merlin called after him like it was an insult as Arthur pushed through the swinging door.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Morgana kept Arthur privy to Uther's hospital tours, that way they wouldn't be there at the same time. She and Leon also allowed him to use them as an excuse, and he told Uther and his doctors he'd been spending his time helping Morgana with wedding plans or going to football matches with Leon instead of admitting his true affairs. It was easy enough to slip under Uther's radar with his sister's help, but Arthur made sure not to sneak away to the hospital more than twice a week and to keep his visiting days sporadic, as the staff might start to ask questions. The last thing he needed was to raise suspicions.

Of course, these infrequent visits meant he wasn't guaranteed time with Merlin. He hadn't been so lucky as on his first visit, and Merlin was consistently asleep or in ECT whenever Arthur came around. Still, Arthur stayed by his bedside when he could, either staying silent and holding his hand or whispering to him in some desperate hope that Merlin could hear him. Maybe he could help Merlin hold on to his memories, if only he could hear Arthur's voice.

In the days in between his visits, Arthur found himself longing to see Merlin again. It consumed his daily thoughts and kept him jittery throughout, but he stayed optimistic that each day would be the one Merlin was awake to see him—to know that Arthur was keeping his promise. After seven trips, however, he began to lose that hope, and he felt a persistent, growing dread that told him Merlin was slipping away, no matter how tightly he held his hand.

How could he really know that Merlin still remembered him? How could he know that Merlin was winning this battle if he couldn't speak with him?

Each visit, Merlin seemed to have deteriorated more and more, and Arthur could only pray that his mind had more strength than his body. But his ignorance was manifesting in a lingering depression that captivated him and drew him away from speech, company, or appetite. Morgana made excuses for him as Uther began to question it, but Arthur knew she couldn't keep it up for much longer. He just didn't care. If Merlin was gone for good, what did it matter if Uther found out?

In early September, on their weekly trip to Birmingham, Mithian convinced Arthur to take a stroll with her around the estate for some fresh air, claiming it would clear his mind. She'd noticed his disposition, too, but never pressed the matter, so Arthur was content to walk with her silence. However, it must have been a ploy to get him alone, because halfway across the grounds, she said, "You seem troubled lately, Arthur. Is everything alright?"

The trees around them were still verdant, and the breeze was warm with the persistence of summer, and Arthur kept his eyes on the swaying branches as he considered the question.

"Of course," he said, but without much fervor. "I've just been a bit under the weather."

"Are you sure? Because Morgana seems worried about you," Mithian said, wrapping her arms around his elbow as they walked. Their sides bumped into each other comfortably with each step as she pressed on, "Or is she just worried she'll catch your sickness?"

"Aren't you?" he asked, looking down at her in their closeness.

She bit her lower lip in a grin and shook her head up at him. "I'll take my chances."

They reached a marble bench next to the willow tree and the small duck pond and Mithian invited him to sit down. "You shouldn't exert yourself in bad health," she told him, and he felt a wave of guilt crash over him as she sat close and stared down at the jumping fish in the water. In that moment, he wanted to tell her everything. She deserved to know, and he was certain she'd understand. Perhaps she'd even ease his mind, as she always did when Arthur confided in her. Mithian would know what to say. She'd know how to help Merlin.

He took a took a deep breath in preparation, but she was quicker than him.

"Arthur, you _would_ tell me if something really was the matter?" she wondered, and he closed his mouth dubiously as she took her gaze off the pond and found him.

"Yes," he assured her, his eyes brightening slightly. This was the perfect prelude.

"You know you can trust me?" she said, sounding reassuring, and he nodded fervently.

"Yes, Mithian. Of course! I value our relationship very much," he told her, leaning closer and taking both her hands in his. She laughed breathlessly down at the touch.

"Me, too!" she exclaimed, and then she did something he did not expect. She swooped in close and laid a deep kiss to his lips. He felt her smile into it, but he only grew tense and shocked, an expression that did not go away when the kiss broke.

However, she must have taken his stunned expression for dazed bliss, because she giggled again, collected herself, and stood up.

"We should be getting back inside," she said, holding her palm out in offering and twiddling her fingers at him. "It's nearly lunch time. I'll have the chef prepare you a nice soup."

Arthur blinked down at her hand a few times, vaguely aware of the breeze sweeping through his hair and the rustle of the leaves overhead. Hesitantly at first, he grasped her fingers and let her lead the way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

_25__th__ December, 1945_

The curtains were still drawn when Merlin peeked his head into the bedroom, and the very first morning rays were slipping through the fabric and casting shadows on the wall. They blended with the soft glow emitting from the small tree, ornamented with strings of white lights and multicolored crystals, next to the fireplace. There was a stack of wrapped presents organized at the trunk, and it made Arthur's bedroom smell of pine, a scent Merlin always associated with warmth.

Careful not to make too much noise, Merlin closed the door slowly behind him and crept towards the tree. Once, his toe connected with a loose floorboard, and he held his breath and cast a wary look at Arthur, who only rolled over and continued snoring. Dozens of images of his face reflected upside down in the ornaments as he knelt beside the tree, took a small box out from under his arm, and placed it gently at the back of the pile. Next, he took a matchbook from his pocket and struck one to light up the hearth, which he had prepared the night before.

The flames cackled into life and, admiring the décor one last time, he stood up and took a sweeping look around at the rest of the bedroom. The fireplace was lined with red and white stockings and garlands of holly swooped down from the bed frame and snaked around the posts. Merlin had done it himself a week ago, much to Arthur's chagrin, and he very pointedly did not hang a mistletoe anywhere in sight, because that was simply too much temptation and he was not a masochist.

_Well, not fully_, he mused, biting his lip as he caught sight of Arthur's bare torso when he turned over again.

He took in one last deep breath, letting the pine-scented air fill him up, and then broke the calm by running towards the bed and catapulting himself onto Arthur, who woke with a loud grunt and a start.

"_Mer_lin!" he shouted angrily as Merlin bounced to his knees and leaned back on his ankles on the side of the mattress.

"Rise and shine!" he called cheerily, a large grin lighting up his features. Arthur propped himself up on his elbows and wrinkled his nose in disgust up at Merlin. "It's Christmas!" he continued his mood not soured by Arthur's glare.

"It's—," Arthur cast a glance at the clock on the hearth, "—six-thirty in the morning."

"Yeah," Merlin agreed, leaning over to flip on the lamp on the bedside table. Arthur winced at the light. "Come on! You've got presents."

Arthur ignored him to ask, with narrowed eyes, "What on Earth are you wearing?"

"It's a gift from my aunt and uncle," Merlin exclaimed happily, holding his arms out to show off his new red jumper with a green dragon stitched into the center. "She knitted it for me specially."

"It has a dragon on it," Arthur observed. "Should I be flattered?"

"_No_!" Merlin said almost defensively, feeling the need to explain. "When I was a kid, Dad would make up these bedtime stories about a dragon that would come along and take me on adventures around the world. Uncle Gaius and Aunt Alice knew how much I loved them, so . . ." Arthur was looking at him fondly, and Merlin nearly blushed under the gaze. Recovering, he said, "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Up with you!"

Arthur groaned again and fell flat on the mattress. "Wake me in another two hours," he grumbled.

Merlin cocked his head to the side in mild annoyance. "_Arthur_," he demanded. Arthur didn't listen, so he grabbed one of the throw pillows and hit him with it a few times, making the box spring protest beneath them until Arthur smacked the pillow out of his hands.

"You _really are_ seven-years-old!" Arthur yelled, but Merlin was just satisfied that he no longer sounded groggy. "Would you just let me sleep? I'm going to need all the rest I can get for Father's charity banquet tonight."

Merlin rolled his eyes and got off the bed. "Oh, yes, eating turkey and ham and brushing shoulders with Kent's most notable. How _do_ you do it?" he said as he crossed to the window and let the meager rays of light in. "I'm going to be much busier than you at the banquet tonight, and I got up at five."

Each year on Christmas, Uther held a dinner to raise funds for the hospitals. It would be Merlin's first time working it, and he expected he'd be holding quite a lot of champagne and hors d'oeurve platters. The entire manor had been preparing for almost the entire month, and Merlin thought it strange that he, Hunith, and Balinor wouldn't be able to spend Christmas at Gaius and Alice's house; although, he supposed more than that tradition had been ripped away as soon as they received word of Balinor's death.

He stared down at the frost-covered garden, lost in thought for a moment as he stroked the newly acquired metal chain hanging low on his chest, but he quickly snapped himself out of it. Balinor knew how much Merlin loved Christmas; he wouldn't want him to be upset. He tucked the chain back inside his jumper and turned back around.

"It's not all drinking and eating, Merlin," Arthur was saying in his defense. "I hardly know half the people who attend every year. _And_ there's one old woman who _insists _on calling me Arty!"

Merlin let out a mocking laugh. "Does she pinch your cheeks?"

Arthur looked exasperated as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbed at his face, obviously having given up on a lie in. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, we'll try to sort out your ill-fated circumstances later," Merlin quipped. "But, come on. Father Christmas as left you quite a bit."

"Merlin, please," Arthur replied, pacing over to the tree with bare feet. Merlin bounced over, too, and sat cross-legged on the floor. "You're a grown man. Just say Father _Pendragon_ and Sister Morgana had you leave all this here after I'd fallen asleep."

Merlin merely shrugged as Arthur got comfortable across from him on the rug and took the first box from the top of the stack. By the end of it, he had unwrapped a new pair of riding boots and a fencing foil from Uther, a pair of red diamond cufflinks from Morgana, and a satin tie from Leon. He seemed happy with his gifts, despite his previous moaning, and even twirled the foil with his wrist to test it out.

"Hang on, there's one more," Merlin told him, trying not to sound too excited, as he reached towards the base of the tree and pulled out the small box he had carried in. Arthur, his silhouette tinted orange by the glow of the fire behind him, looked perplexed as Merlin offered him the gift.

"Who's it from?" he wondered aloud, and Merlin gave an exaggerated shrug that must have made Arthur all the more curious because he snatched it from Merlin's hands. After he took off the red ribbon holding the box together, he opened the lid to find a pair of dark brown, unlined lambskin leather gloves. The soft, smooth fabric was decorated with full fingers and knuckle holes, and Arthur gaped down at them as he lifted them from the wrapping tissue. For a long time, there was silence, save the roaring of the flames.

"They're driving gloves," Merlin explained, a broad smile cracking his cheeks. "For driving your car. I figured you might like them. I had to guess on the size, though. I tried to judge by my own hands but—," he took Arthur's free hand gingerly and held their palms flat together, which allowed him to study the differences, "—yeah, my fingers are longer."

It took him a moment to realize their palms were still pressed together, and his gaze swept from them to Arthur's face. He was staring at Merlin incredulously, and Merlin's cheekbones heated up quite apart from the fireside's stinging warmth as he let his hand drop to the floor.

"They should fit a little snugly, though," he carried on, looking at the carpet, "or at least that's what the lady at the store said."

Merlin didn't know why he was blithering so much, but he felt his cheeks turn red again and decided to stop talking. Once he had, Arthur slipped one of the gloves on and flexed his fingers.

"It fits," he said, sounding a little breathless.

"Does it?" Merlin asked, his brows darting up. "That's great!"

"Yeah," Arthur said, nodding at him. "Dead on. It fits like . . ." he trailed off, obviously having realized where he was going with that sentence. Merlin did, too.

"A glove?" he offered, raising his brow in sarcasm.

Arthur chortled, but his expression fell again as he looked down admiringly at the glove. "Merlin, they're beautiful. I don't know what to say," he said softly. He looked guilty when their eyes met again. "I—I haven't got anything for you."

"Oh, I didn't think you would," Merlin said lightly, waving it away, but Arthur looked hurt by the words, which made his heart leap. "No, I only meant . . . I don't expect anything." He gave a reassuring grin, but Arthur still looked regretful.

"I'll talk Father into giving you a bonus," he offered, but Merlin shook his head.

"Why, so you can pay for your own Christmas present? Not a chance," he said. "Besides, he's already given all the servants their bonuses. I don't think he'd feel obligated to give me two."

Arthur agreed dejectedly as Merlin stretched out his legs and rose to his knees to collected the debris of discarded ribbons and mangled wrapping paper. As he leaned down, his chain slipped from the neck of his jumper and the pendants swung and twirled as they hung, catching the light.

"What's that?" Arthur inquired, leaning forward to get a better look.

"Oh," Merlin said, sitting back again and looking down his nose at his chest. He reached up and fingered at the silver dog tags. "They were my dad's," he explained. "Mum's present to me this year. She said he'd want me to have them."

Arthur gave him another ambiguous look before glancing away. "Oh," he said lamely, and Merlin tried to break the tension by laughing.

"Not all of us can get diamond cufflinks, you know!" he chuckled.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Arthur answered. "It's a very nice gift. More meaningful than cufflinks." Merlin nodded but didn't say anything, so Arthur continued, "I received a gift like that once."

"Yeah?" Merlin wondered, more intrigued by Arthur's tone than his words. He seemed to be recalling some distant memory.

Wordlessly, Arthur got up and faced the mantel, in the middle of which was a small, polished box. Curious, Merlin stood up and looked over Arthur's shoulder at what he was doing. He had opened the box and taken out a large, gem incrusted brooch in the shape of a bird. It was plated in gold and covered in white diamonds with two red rubies for the eyes.

"Women's jewelry?" Merlin said, trying to keep the moment light, but Arthur was palming the brooch and staring down at it in reminiscence.

"It was my mother's," he explained, and Merlin's eyes flashed from the piece to look at Arthur. However, he didn't retaliate. "And it was her mother's before that, and so on . . . My father gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday. 'For you to pass on some day,' he said."

Arthur tore his eyes from the brooch and held it carefully between his thumb and index finger towards Merlin.

"Merry Christmas," he said simply.

Merlin felt a deep pressure in his chest and gasped shallowly at the words. "No, Arthur, I couldn't," he said, shaking his head and taking a step back. "Really, it wouldn't be right—"

"It's mine to give to whomever I choose, and I choose you," Arthur said patiently, holding his hand out further. "I want you to have it. It's yours."

Merlin gaped softly between the brooch and Arthur, silently checking to make sure Arthur was absolutely sure about this. He seemed resolute, so Merlin reached out his fingers slowly and clasped them carefully around the piece. He speechlessly looked down at it for a long time like it was the most precious thing in the world and, to him, it might have been.

"Good, now that that's settled," Arthur said with pushed airiness, and he shoved passed Merlin to the wardrobe. "I think it's time for Christmas breakfast."

Merlin swallowed down his emotion and placed the brooch in his pocket, where he knew it would be safe, before following Arthur with his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed, trying to smile. And, really, he should have been able to muster one more easily. After all, the scent of the pine tree had never made him feel warmer, and he'd never loved Christmas more.

* * *

Just because Merlin hadn't seen Arthur didn't mean he hadn't come back. After all, Merlin knew how tricky visitation was, especially when Arthur didn't know his schedule. Sometimes, when he was asleep, he thought he could hear Arthur's voice or could feel the touch of his fingers and the press of his lips against his forehead. But they were always so distant, and they could have just been dreams.

But Merlin didn't give up hope. Each day he was awake, he held the expectation that Arthur would come around. Until then, he'd have to be patient.

He was woken up in the late morning, and Mordred suggested he take a walk to the mess hall for breakfast. Merlin didn't have much of an appetite so soon after waking up, or at all these days, but hoped he'd see a familiar face to pass the time. Perhaps he'd even get a chance to talk to Gwen and to see how she was doing. He could use another chat with her, and he was sure she'd be thrilled to know he'd seen Arthur only a few weeks ago.

As he walked, he heard her voice halfway down the corridor. She was shouting something from around the corner, and she sounded furious. He followed her voice around the bend, where a small group of patients had congregated to stare on apathetically at the ruckus that was ensuing along the opposite wall.

"No, you can't!" Gwen was screaming, and her tone changed from anger to pleading. "Stop it!"

"Gwen?" Merlin tried to call from the back of the group. When he received no response, he shoved his way to the front to get a better look.

Nurse Nimueh and two other orderlies were struggling with Gwen, trying to move her forward. However, she had planted her loafers firmly into the tile, and her heels were dragging and squeaking as she elbowed frantically at the orderlies.

"Miss Smith, you _have_ to come with us," Nimueh was saying, sounding impatient. "You have to go to through your treatment."

"No!" Gwen shouted. "Can't you see what it's doing to all of us? Let—go—of—me!"

Merlin watched with wide eyes as Gwen managed to free one arm from the man on her left, but the orderly on her right held firm.

"Stay away from me!" she demanded as the first man tried to retake her. She slashed her nails quickly across his cheek in defense, and he let out a yelp and stumbled backward, cradling his enflamed skin.

"Alright, that does it," Nimueh said with finality. "Sedate her."

"What? _No_!" Gwen protested louder now, redoubling her efforts to push away, but the orderly who still contained her had managed to grab her other arm and hold her wrists behind her back.

"With pleasure," the defeated orderly said as he produced a vial of insulin and a syringe from his coat pocket.

Merlin felt helpless as he watched. He willed himself to step in, to lend Gwen a hand, but his feet remained still beneath him, paralyzed to the spot. He hated himself for it, but he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to help her. She'd said it herself: he couldn't stop the treatment.

She continued to wail and struggle to the best of her abilities, but one orderly restrained her as the other stilled her arm long enough to jam the needle into her vein. She kept thrashing for another half of a minute before her motions slowed and her words became slurred. Her eyes fluttered as she fought to keep them open, but her body soon succumbed and she fell limply into the orderly's hold.

"Thank god for the that," Nimueh muttered, gesturing for a gurney. It was rolled over and Gwen was placed on top of it. "Take her to the treatment room," the nurse said, and she followed the bed down the hallway, headed in the opposite direction from Gwen's room.

As the group of onlookers dispersed, Merlin stayed grounded in the center of the corridor, staring after Gwen and her so-called caretakers with astonishment.

They were taking her to the ECT rooms. They had put her back to sleep, and yet they were still bringing her to treatment. He blinked back to reality, remembering what Gwaine had told him months ago. Merlin was an idiot to have not listened, an idiot for trusting these doctors.

He couldn't keep this discovery to himself. He had to find Gwaine, to tell him that his fears were true. After some searching, he found Gwaine, looking worse for wear, sitting alone on the beaten up couch in the common area. A few feet in front of him, the picture on the television streamed and crackled, but he hardly seemed to notice.

Merlin slid next to him, turning his body to face Gwaine, and expecting Gwaine to recognize his presence and turn to him, too. He did not.

"Gwaine," Merlin said in a harsh whisper, and Gwaine lazily turned his head to give Merlin a sideways glance.

"Oh," he said with lethargy. "Hey, Merlin."

Merlin barely registered his tone, however. He was too caught up in his own whirling thoughts.

"Gwaine, you were right," Merlin told him, licking his dry lips and casting wary looks around them to make sure no one was listening. "About them giving us the ECT in our sleep. I just saw them taking Gwen."

Gwaine's expression did not change. He kept his eyes forward on the broken TV set.

"Gwaine, are you listening?" Merlin hissed, wanting to shake him.

"Yeah, I heard," was the answer.

"_And_?"

"Don't remember sayin' that," Gwaine said with an impassive shrug. "Sure it was me?"

Merlin knitted his brows at him and wrinkled his nose in question. "Of course, I am!" he snipped. "Who else would be that paranoid?"

Gwaine ran his palms down his face, seeming tense and annoyed. "I don't know, Merlin. How about _anyone_ in here?" he said harshly. "Just leave me alone, yeah? I'm exhausted. Can't wait 'til they're through with my room so I can go back to sleep."

The sentence confused Merlin, and then left an ominous sensation in his gut.

"What do you mean, done with your room?" he asked hesitantly.

"Room checks are today," Gwaine answered, sounding bored, and Merlin felt the air rip from the room.

"T—Today?" he breathed when he remembered how. He felt his pulse rage as the blood pump frantically through his eardrums. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't know I was your secretary," Gwaine said unhelpfully, but Merlin barely heard him.

"_Shit_. I have to go," he excused himself quickly, already jumping off the couch. He sprinted back down the corridor towards his room, running into people and bumping into gurneys on his way but not stopping for anything. He kept a prayerful mantra running through his head, hoping they hadn't gotten to his room yet.

He cursed himself for not finding a better hiding place for the discarded pills in the first place, but there was still time to do something about them now. He could stuff his pockets, chuck them out the window, or flush them down the toilet. There had to be _something_ he could do, if only they hadn't yet been discovered.

He came to a sliding halt in his doorway, and inside he saw Mordred and another orderly, the second of whom was holding up Merlin's mattress with both hands and staring at the multicolored medication, crushed and mashed into powder and stuck to the box spring.

Whatever color was left in Merlin's face drained as Mordred realized his presence. He didn't look angry, just disappointed. He closed his mouth and let his shoulders drop in a sigh as he locked eyes with Merlin.

"Care to explain, Merlin?" he asked, but Merlin stayed silent.

"Okay," Mordred said after Merlin's opportunity to speak up had passed. "Come with me."

Merlin offered no resistance. He trailed after Mordred with his heart in his throat until they stopped at the nurses' station opposite the lifts. Mordred reached over the counter for the telephone and dialed in a three-digit number.

"Hello, Doctor?" he asked into the receiver, keeping his eyes on Merlin as he spoke. "We've had a little bit of a situation during room checks. One of them hasn't been taking his medication . . . The patient is Merlin Emrys . . . Yes, _him_ . . ."

Mordred listened to the voice on the other line for a pause, into which he took his eyes off of Merlin and looked almost surprised.

"Really?" he asked, dumbfounded. "Yes, sir, if that's what you want."

Merlin didn't like the sound of that one bit. He felt his stomach turn to knots as Mordred hung up the phone and replaced it on the desk.

"Follow me," he told Merlin, and Merlin had no choice put to join him in the lift, headed for the top floor.

As much trouble he knew he was in, Merlin was a bit relieved to find he was going to the top floor. That only meant Bayard would want to have a discussion with him. He would probably tell Merlin to get back on the medication, and he would instruct Mordred to make sure Merlin was taking it. It would be a setback, that much was certain, but Merlin would find a way around it.

The lift doors chimed open and Mordred lead Merlin down the carpeted hall towards Bayard's office. However, as they got closer, Mordred made no sign of slowing down, and Merlin felt himself start to panic again when they passed the door altogether.

He was led to the far end of the corridor and ushered into the very last room. This office was set up the same as Bayard's but it was much more spacious and organized, and it had large windows that overlooked the whole front grounds of the institution. Behind the large desk, stacked with neat piles of files and folders, was an intense-looking bearded man who was writing something down in a black leather-bound journal.

"Dr. Odin?" Mordred said softly as he knocked, and the man himself brought his head up to fix his stare on the newcomers.

"Bring him in," he said disinterestedly, bringing his gaze back to his book and scribbling more down. As Merlin was led stiffly into the chair opposite him, he tried to catch a glimpse of what Odin was writing, but it looked like chicken scratch to him.

"You can go," Odin told Mordred, who shot Merlin a glance that almost looked apologetic if his boyish face wasn't attempting to be so stern. Merlin watched him go with distain before turning back to the doctor.

"So," Odin began, closing his book and giving it a soft pat, placing his fountain pen gently next to it. He replaced the book with a file that Merlin only assumed was his, and the pen was substituted with a pencil. "You've been quite the difficult one, haven't you?"

Merlin didn't know exactly what he meant by that, but it caused a surge of pride, and he sat a little straighter to look Odin up and down as the doctor surveyed him closely.

"Dr. Bayard doesn't quite know what to do with you," he said after a pause, looking down at the file that was laid flat and opened on the desk. "He says, one week, you're responding to the treatment as he'd hoped, and the next, you're regressing. According to your file, he's tried putting you through more ECT, upping your doses of the medication . . ." He looked back up and gave a soft, knowing smirk. "I guess we know why _that_ hasn't been working."

Merlin stayed quite, keeping his face stony.

"You've been fighting the therapy every step of the way, Mr. Emrys," Odin said. "I can't understand why. Don't you want to get better?" When Merlin didn't answer, he continued, "I know this must be difficult. You didn't check yourself in, correct? You were admitted here—by someone who wants to see you improve."

Merlin didn't even try to fight back his bitter laugh.

"You don't think so?" Odin wondered with a raised brow.

"Do you know what I think?" Merlin asked in an insubordinate tone. "I think, if I was that _difficult_, you would have transferred me a long time ago so I wouldn't mess up the results of your little experimentation. But you won't, because your beneficiary brought me here. Who did he tell you the other man was?"

Odin narrowed his eyes and swept him up and down again before answering, "Another servant in his household."

Merlin gave a snort. "And you believed him? Then, why isn't that apparent other servant here, too? Why am I so special that Uther Pendragon wants to see me _improve_?"

"You're not special," Odin told him pointedly. "It's a tactical move. You get sent here, the other boy is sent to another hospital. That way, you can both heal apart from one another. It was a wise strategy."

Merlin hummed mockingly.

"Don't think on that now. We're here to talk about you, Merlin," Odin said, trying to get the conversation back on track. He regarded the file again and asked, "Do you know how long you've been here?"

"Yes," Merlin answered immediately.

"How long?" Odin drilled.

"Two months, one week, and four days," Merlin retorted surely, and Odin brought his fingers to his lips in thought.

"How many weeks did you say? One?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the file, which he now lifted from the desk with his free hand and held it up so Merlin could not see it. "Are you sure?"

The question made Merlin second guess himself for a split second before he decided Odin was only trying to mess with his head. "Yes," he answered with a touch less conviction than he might have intended.

"Mhm," Odin hummed condescendingly, like Merlin had just said the most fascinating thing in the world, and Merlin felt his heart jump in hatred towards the man.

Odin closed the file and leaned forward, picking up his pencil and twirling it idly between both hands.

"You have to start taking your medication, Merlin," he said, sounding stern, and Merlin glared at him challengingly.

"Or what?" he asked. "More DST? Or maybe more ECT? How many times a day will I be in the treatment room now? Half a dozen, at least. Maybe you should just move me permanently into that room. I can sleep there. After all, you seem to have no problem putting us through treatment in our sleep."

Odin stayed quiet for a moment, a smug, detesting half-smile quirking his lips as he regarded Merlin.

"That's hardly a secret," he said airily, still twirling his pencil.

"And it's hardly a well-known fact," Merlin countered, and Odin's smile dropped. Now it was Merlin's turn to look smug, happy that he was getting under the doctor's skin.

"Mr. Emrys," he began with pushed patience in his tone. "This is a matter of your mental health. We are all here to provide you with the ability to live a normal, healthy life beyond these walls. I hope, one day, you can appreciate that. Why fight those who are trying to help? While I understand the treatment can be taxing while you're going through it, it will be beneficial in the long run. It's the same for any treatment. Imagine this were a physical ailment. Would you deny yourself medication because of the side effects, even though it was designed to heal you? Or would you rather live with your sickness?"

Merlin didn't answer. He only fixed Odin with a glower, so Odin went on.

"It's a shame for such a handsome young man such as yourself to not be out in the world, living a life," he said. "If you would only stop seeing us as the enemy and embrace your treatment, I think you'll find it will be very rewarding. Mentality is half the battle, you understand? Put yourself in the right mindset, and you'll be walking out of here a new man sooner rather than later."

Merlin let the words circle in his mind, appearing to consider them closely as he looked off at the far wall. He let out a deep, thoughtful sigh before nodding in understanding and bringing his focus back to Odin.

His face even, he looked the doctor directly in eyes, leaned forward in his chair, and deadpanned, "Do you really think I'm handsome?"

The pencil held between Odin's hands snapped in two, and he looked furious.

* * *

"That little stunt you pulled didn't do you any favors," Mordred scolded as they stepped out of the lift and onto Merlin's floor. Merlin trailed behind him, looking completely indifferent, as Mordred continued to reprove him with a wagging finger. "He's ordered more ECT for you, and he wants to sit in on them personally. You've put yourself well under his microscope, you know? He thinks you're a hard case."

Mordred stopped walking and turned around to face Merlin, his expression unexpectedly soft, not that it did anything to faze Merlin.

"But I believe in you," Mordred said, and he must have thought the words were supportive and soothing. "We'll get you well, Merlin. You'll see. You just have to start meeting me halfway."

Merlin was just about to roll his eyes at the prospect when a commotion a few feet down the hall from them caught his eyes. Two doctors were rushing quickly and with purpose into one of the patient rooms. As they hustled, they were speaking in swift jargon that didn't sound very good to Merlin. From what little he understood, he gleaned that someone's blood pressure was dropping.

"That's Gwen's room," Merlin realized with alarm as he noted which door the doctor flew through. He had to extract himself from Mordred's grip and push passed him, but he rushed down the hall until he stood outside Gwen's opened door. He hesitated for a brief moment, trying to prepare himself for whatever he'd see inside, before clearing the wall and looking through the threshold.

Inside, Gwen was lying motionlessly on her bed, and half a dozen doctors and nurses surrounded her on either side, working on her frantically with heavy machinery and respirators.

"Merlin, what are you doing? Get away from there," Mordred, who had apparently caught up, said from behind him. He tried to grab Merlin's arm, but Merlin swatted him away and kept his eyes fixed on the proceedings.

"I can't get a pulse," he heard someone say over the buzzing in the room, and he felt his own pulse quicken in alert. His breath came out labored as he watched one of the nurses produce a large needle and ram it directly into Gwen's chest.

Merlin let out a gasp, but stifled it by holding his hand to it face and biting down hard on his thumb, his mind blank all but for the word _please_.

The needle was removed, and Gwen suddenly began to convulse violently. It floored Merlin, and he suddenly felt a million miles away as he watched her seize and flail in a fit. He felt like he was looking through a haze in which the entire world was on its side.

Gwen let out choking noises as the doctors tried to hold her down, and vomit sputtered up from her mouth as she continued to quake beyond their control.

"Merlin, come with me," he heard Mordred's voice echo, but he did not listen.

Gwen suddenly fell still, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He skewed his eyes closed tightly, praying she was alright, but having little hope.

When he opened his eyes again, Nimueh was leaning over Gwen but staring at a doctor across the bed from her. She was shaking her head meaningfully, and Merlin felt himself go numb and cold.

"Alright, then," the doctor said with a sigh. He held up his wrist to check his watch.

"Time of death: thirteen-forty-seven."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven.**

The last time Arthur had been in Uther's study wasn't a pleasant one. They had been arguing over Merlin, and it was a conversation that Arthur had not won. However, when he really thought of it, Arthur couldn't say he had ever had a pleasant experience in the green glow of the accountant's lamp perched atop the sturdy mahogany desk, amongst the hardwood floor with its elaborate antique carpet and the dark polished wooden walls on which the trophy of a stuffed stag head stared down at him from over the desk. When he was a boy, Morgana would tell him the bottom half of the deer was on the other side of the wall, kicking and squirming for its freedom, which only made the dead marble eyes irk Arthur out of his skin.

He hated that office, and this time was no different. However, Uther had called upon him for some reason, and Arthur supposed he wasn't about to be scolded for breaking a vase or eating too much chocolate, as he was an adult now and, besides, he hadn't done either of those things very recently at all. Still, upon knocking and entering the room, he only cast a glance towards the visitor chair across from Uther's leather one, and stood stiffly and guardedly a few feet away from the desk.

"Son, good, I've been wanting to talk to you," Uther was saying, looking down his nose through his reading glasses at a folder of paperwork. "Sit down."

Arthur was shocked to be invited to sit, and he cast the chair another wary look. He didn't feel right about sitting in it. It would be almost improper if he did, as that was reserved for business associates and the like. He mollified Uther by standing behind the chair and casually—or at least as casually as he could—gripping onto the top of it.

"You wanted to see me?" Arthur asked, taking a sweeping look around the room until his gaze landed on the deer head. He tried as best he could to not look directly at his father. He couldn't bring himself to ever since he learned about what Uther permitted at Merlin's hospital. Before long, Arthur fell back into avoiding his father completely, but he supposed it didn't matter. Uther didn't even notice.

"That's right," Uther said, putting down his paper and fountain pen. He took off his glasses and placed them down on the stack before folding his hands together and smiling up at him. It was unnerving to see him smiling so pleasantly and, when Arthur tried to mimic the expression, it faltered.

"I have some very good news," Uther began before smiling some more.

When he didn't elaborate right away, Arthur tilted his head and guessed, "What is it? Have you found a break in your schedule for the trip to Bermuda?"

"No, no, not yet, I'm afraid," Uther said. "But, when we _do_ go, it won't just be the two of us, Morgana, and Leon. We'll be joined by one more."

Arthur shrugged, wondering how any of this was worth a trip to Uther's study.

"Who?"

"Mithian," Uther replied cheerfully.

"Oh," Arthur said, somewhat confused. He felt mixed emotions to hear Mithian was getting an invite. He was sure exploring the islands with her would promise to be a fascinating time; however, on the other hand, he felt extraordinarily awkward in her presence ever since she kissed him. He didn't want it to change their relationship, but it did, and he felt it was best to steer clear of her until things got back to normal. "I—I thought you said this was to be a _family_ holiday?"

"It is," Uther said simply, inclining his head.

Arthur was very tired of his vagueness, and more baffled than ever. "I don't think I understand," he admitted, leaning in further towards the chair.

"No, I haven't explained yet," Uther told him. "You see, son, Rodor and I have discussed this at great length and we feel it would immensely beneficial for our families to become one."

Arthur furrowed his brow at this, turning the words over in his mind but not following.

"I still don't—"

"You and Mithian are getting married," Uther clarified, and Arthur was surprised that he didn't completely jump out of his skin.

"_Married_?" he blurted in a shout, entirely thrown for a loop. "What the f—"

"I understand this may come as something of a shock," Uther cut in, "but you and the girl have been getting along quite famously. It wasn't the original plan when Rodor and I first met, but once we saw how quickly the pair of you fell for one another—"

"_Fell_ for her?" Arthur repeated, mostly because he wasn't able to remember any other word in his vocabulary for a moment. "No. No, I did not _fall_ for her, Father."

He was aware that Uther's smile had fallen, but he powered through.

"Don't get me wrong, Mithian is a wonderful and exquisite woman. Any man would be lucky to have her, _if_ they can keep up, but—"

"Then consider yourself a lucky man," Uther told him, somewhat impatiently.

"But I'm not in love with her," Arthur went on as though Uther had said nothing.

"You will be," Uther said, and he must have held some confidence that Arthur didn't, "in time. Soon you will see: she's the one for you."

Arthur could only blink dubiously at him for a moment, at a complete loss as to what to say.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked at last, and there was more emotion in his tone than he'd intended.

At this, Uther stood up from his chair and walked around the desk to place his firm palms on either of Arthur's shoulders. "Son, I've told you of my father. When I was a boy, all this family owned was one hospital, and I was proud of our work there, especially when it was passed to me. But . . . When your mother died, I couldn't help but blame the doctors. I wondered how many other people were suffering due to the apathy of the hospital staff or the minuscule funding provided for treatments."

_Do you wonder how many people are suffering in your hospitals now?_ Arthur wanted to say, but he bit it back.

"I think the hospitals under the Pendragon name have made much improvement since then," Uther said, as though answering the unspoken question. "But it's a process. We strive for better—and Rodor shares in that vision. After months of negotiations, we've decided to become partners."

And Arthur understood. This union wasn't for his or Mithian's happiness at all.

"So, this is just a business ploy?" Arthur asked bitterly. "So your negotiations won't fall through? So Rodor can never back out?"

"_No_, Arthur," Uther insisted, very convincingly at that. "One day, Rodor and I will be gone, and our life's work will be passed to you and Mithian. You could share everything we worked so hard to build. You could keep our legacy going—make it _your_ legacy."

Arthur didn't want a legacy. He didn't mind if he wasn't remembered after he was gone. All he wanted was this life—with Merlin.

But Uther's mind was made up.

"And how does Mithian feel about this?" Arthur asked in one last desperate attempt to change his father's decisions.

"Mithian has already agreed. She's overjoyed, I'm told," Uther said, smiling again like this was the happiest thing in the world, like Arthur's heart wasn't sinking. "She's already packed and ready to move in tonight."

Arthur's eyes flickered back up to his urgently.

"_Tonight_?"

"Yes," said Uther, releasing his son and moving to the drinks trolley behind the desk. "We're having a banquet to announce the engagement."

Arthur felt sick by the prospect that all of Kent and Birmingham knew of his engagement before he did.

"I know this is a nerve-wracking time, son, but you'll soon be elated," Uther told him, pouring two tumblers of scotch. "I felt the same when I was engaged to your mother, but I was completely ready on the day of our wedding."

He stopped moving for a second and looked off.

"The day she died was the worst of my life," he said solemnly, and Arthur felt a slight twinge of pain in his chest. Uther had obviously forgotten that Igraine's death was the same day of Arthur's birth.

"But I wish you the happiness I shared with her, for however brief a time, to you and your future wife," he continued, picking up the glasses and handing one to Arthur.

Arthur cradled it in his hands, mirthlessly thinking that he'd need a lot more than two fingers of whiskey to feel joyous at the moment, but the drink looked like ichor as the dim light filtered though it.

"To Mithian," Uther said, raising his glass.

Arthur looked down into the amber liquid for a long time, trying to think of some combination of words to say to get out of this, but his mind came up empty.

And Uther was waiting for him to toast back.

* * *

_28__th__ March, 1947_

Merlin was still beneath the covers, facing the wall with his hands folded one on top of the other beneath his cheek. He hadn't moved for what felt like ages, and Arthur would have feared the worst if it hadn't been for the gentle rise of fall of Merlin's shoulders as he breathed. He was usually much more talkative in bed, laughing or hitting Arthur with his pillow because of some silly joke that Arthur wouldn't admit he found funny.

Arthur slung his arm over the covers on Merlin's torso and pulled him in close until his spine was pressed against Arthur's chest.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, placing a kiss to the back of Merlin's bare shoulder before resting his chin there. "Hmm?"

"It's nothing," Merlin said softly into the darkness.

"_That_ was convincing," Arthur told him sarcastically. He nuzzled his face between Merlin's shoulder blades, nosing at him to evoke a reaction. "Come on, don't try to be mysterious."

"I was just thinking."

"Oh, that's never a good sign," Arthur said lightly, coming back up and smiling down at Merlin's cheek.

"About your future wife."

Arthur's happy expression fell into something more perplexed.

"My _what_?" he laughed.

Merlin didn't seem to understand his own joke. He tensed his shoulders and readjusted himself against the pillow, staring off miserably. It finally occurred to Arthur that he was being serious.

"Merlin, what the Hell are you talking about?" he asked.

"I thought I could stop it from bothering me. I thought I could put it out of my mind until the time came, but . . ." Merlin began a little sadly. "I'm not daft, Arthur."

"Well, apparently, I _am_," Arthur said, trying to comfort him but not really knowing why he was upset in the first place. "I haven't _got_ a future wife."

"Not yet, but you will have," Merlin insisted, slinking out of Arthur's arm by sitting up. Arthur followed suit. "I know what's expected of you, and so do you," Merlin continued from over his shoulder. "One day, you'll be married to some beautiful society girl and have dozens of children and be a happy, normal family until the end, and me . . ."

He gave a little laugh that made Arthur's heart drop, even though he could not see Merlin's face.

"There's no room for me in that picture," Merlin said. "Even if there were, I couldn't stay on as your servant. I couldn't do that to myself day in and day out . . ."

"You won't have to," Arthur told him, shaking his head. When he realized Merlin couldn't see it, he leaned in and pressed kisses to Merlin's shoulder blades and biceps. "That's never going to happen. I don't want that life if it can't be with you," he said, his voice muffled against Merlin's skin. "You are the only dream I've ever had."

He was sure Merlin had closed his eyes into the words, wanting to believe them, because there was a pause before he asked, "But what if that's all it can be? A dream."

"Then, I don't see the point in ever waking up."

Merlin turned his head to the side to look at Arthur through his lashes.

"What if you don't have a choice?" he asked.

Arthur let out a breath through his nose, considering the question. Finally, he reached out a hand and ran his knuckles gently up and down Merlin's exposed arm.

"I do have one," he said, watching his own fingers move. "And I've made it."

When he looked back up, Merlin looked less convinced and more terrified than ever, and the look simultaneously broke Arthur's heart and made it flutter. No one ever faced the idea of losing him and looked like that, and he wondered if he wore that mirrored expression on the days he thought of the future—of having to let Merlin go.

He pushed those thoughts away every time they haunted his mind, because he would never leave Merlin. If the day ever came that they were apart, it would be because Merlin left on his own.

"I love _you_, Merlin," Arthur told him what had been on his mind for so long now. "_Only_ you."

Merlin's eyes transformed from fearful and guarded to soft, twinkling stars in the dark room.

"Do you?" he whispered in disbelief.

Arthur nodded, and the nightingales chirping in the trees outside the window sounded like a chorus, praising him for finally building up the courage to say it.

"I do," he promised, and he was happy to see Merlin smiling again, if only just a little.

"I love you, too," he said breathlessly, his grin growing with every word. "Obviously."

"_Obviously_," Arthur agreed with a chuckle, and he kissed up Merlin's shoulder until he met his lips.

"Now stop moping about," he said with his usual demanding air. "Lay with me a while more."

And Merlin did. Arthur brought his chest to Merlin's back again and snaked both arms around his torso until they met. Merlin snuggled in close, vibrating with happiness, and he apparently didn't realize that the shadows of the room had grown darker.

_Your future wife_.

The words echoed in Arthur's mind, and he thought he might lose his breath over the prospect of the future. Usually, he tried not to dwell too much on what was to come, but he couldn't pretend he didn't share Merlin's fears. He just didn't speak of them. But now that Merlin had brought them to the surface, Arthur couldn't ignore them. It seemed that, in putting Merlin's worries to rest, Arthur had taken them on for them both. Try as he might to tell himself he'd never allow it to happen, he couldn't quite convince himself.

He held Merlin tighter, if not a little desperately, but Merlin didn't seem to mind.

* * *

Arthur raised his glass.

The others in the room did the same, until parlor sparkled as the light bounced off the red wine in each cup. Next to Arthur stood a beaming Mithian in a long evening dress and diamond earrings, which swayed each time she moved her head. On the hand she was toasting with, she wore a large engagement ring that belonged to Arthur's mother.

Morgana and Leon were across from them, both raising their glasses respectfully, but Morgana kept casting her brother sober glances. Between the two couples, standing in front of the hearth, were Uther and Rodor, both basking in the attention of the room.

"Thank you all for joining us to celebrate this happy occasion," Uther toasted to the packed room, which had fallen silent only seconds ago. "Rodor and I could not be more proud to join our families. May this union bring a long future of happiness and prosperity . . . To Arthur and Mithian."

As he finished, he raised his glass higher, and the crowd followed, repeating his final words in praise.

All around him, people took a sip of their wine and Arthur, closing his eyes and steadying himself, did the same. His heart was in his throat and he could taste metal in his mouth, but the red colored poison quickly rinsed it out. It tasted cold and sterile and numb, but he did not lower his glass until his father did.

* * *

Mithian's trunks and luggage had already been unpacked. Her clothes were put away in the dresser and cupboard and her books and belongings were placed along the shelves and the tops of the furniture. Arthur looked around at the bedroom from his place in the open threshold. Her back was to him as she turned over her sheets in preparation for bed. Her long braid tossed from shoulder to shoulder over her white nightdress and she moved.

After a moment of watching her, Arthur realized it was best to alert her to his presence, so he lifted his knuckles and softly rapped on the wood. She turned around almost instantly, and her features softened to him.

"Arthur," she said kindly, straightening out. "Have you come to say goodnight?"

He nodded, taking another sweeping look around the room, mostly to avoid her gaze than anything. Not long ago, he had felt comfortable around her, and now he was so ill at ease.

"How are you settling in?" he wondered, forcing himself to look at her, willing himself to see her as the same girl he'd befriended.

She shrugged softly, as though not to offend.

"It's strange being beneath another roof," she admitted. "But I'm very comfortable, thank you. I'm sure I'll get used to it in no time."

"Good, good," he said, not knowing what else to say. He looked to the opposite wall of the room, where French doors led out to a balcony. "I, um—I requested this room for you," he said softly. "It's far away from any lights of the kitchen. You should be able to see the stars."

"That was very kind of you," she said, regarding him warmly, and he couldn't stand the look for a second longer.

"It was the least I could do," he told the floor before quickly turning around and muttering a fast, "Goodnight."

"Wait, Arthur?" she called, and he had no choice but to look over his shoulder. When she knew she had his attention, she said, a little timidly, "I just wanted to say . . . Of all the men my Father could deem fit to marry me, I'm glad it's you."

He felt a lump grow in his throat as he stared at her, feeling hollow and immensely guilty that he couldn't share in her feelings or her excitement. However, she continued to smile at him, and all he could bring himself to do was nod, trying to look grateful.

"I'm down the hall if you need me," he said, and he didn't quite sprint from the room.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve.**

_21__st__ April, 1945_

Merlin had been in the manor for nearly an entire month, but he still wasn't used to it. He would often wake up wondering, for the briefest moment, where he was or why the unfamiliar mattress beneath him was so soft. He missed his hard bed with the old, ripped quilt in his miniscule bedroom with the single window back in his parents' flat in London. He missed his job stocking the pantries at the take away under his flat. He missed not getting lost in a grand corridor every time he had to find his way to a certain room. Most of all, he missed not being at another's beck and call twenty-four hours a day.

It was exhausting, and Arthur was so needy.

It was fair to say that Merlin's first impression of Arthur had been correct—at least to an extent. He really was a self-entitled brat who thought the sun shined for him alone. He was rude, demanding, and ungrateful; but then there were times when he wasn't. There were times when he was chivalrous, generous, and fair; times when he would treat everyone, even the servants, like they were his equals—like they were people instead of their rank. In these instances, Merlin wondered if Arthur's pompous demeanor was only a mask or a learned behavior for another's sake that he simply could not shake. How much of it was his true nature, and how much was dictated by how he was expected to act?

With these observations in mind, Merlin couldn't bring himself to actually dislike Arthur. In fact, it was becoming quite the opposite. Maybe Arthur wasn't the shallow, pretentious man he'd originally been made out to be. Maybe Merlin was even starting to enjoy his job . . .

The door of Arthur's bedroom slammed open, making Merlin jump and causing him to drop the bundle of freshly laundered and folded clothes from his arms. He was about to yell about it in frustration, but he saw the set expression on Arthur's face as he stormed into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Merlin, what did you do?" he asked severely, sounding like he was fighting back anger.

Merlin wrinkled his nose in annoyance and crouched down to pick up the clothes. "I've only dropped a few shirts!" he defended. "And it's not even my fault this time. _You_ startled me—"

"No, the watch," Arthur demanded impatiently, and a look of curiosity passed Merlin's features.

"What watch?" he asked, shaking his head up at Arthur as though he were speaking in a different language.

"My father's watch!" Arthur clarified in a near-shout. "Aredian says you've stolen it from his study."

Merlin dropped the clothes again and sprang up to his feet. "He _what_?" he exclaimed, feeling a rising sense of panic in his gut. "I haven't stolen anything! I—I've never even been inside your father's study. I didn't even know he _had_ a watch!"

"That's not what Aredian said," Arthur told him, but he sounded less cross. "He claims to have seen you sneaking out of Father's study earlier today, right before it went missing."

Merlin bit at the inside of his cheek in thought, trying to recall being anywhere near Uther's study that day. At once, it came to him. "No, he's lying," he told Arthur. "I was near the study, yeah—but I was on my way to the kitchen. I passed Aredian in the hall but . . . Arthur, what if _he_ took it and he's trying to blame me?"

Arthur shook his head, not wanting to accept it. "Why would he lie about something like that?" he asked. "And why _you_?"

Merlin shrugged, stammering as he tried to grasp an answer. "Because I'm new. Because you have no reason to trust me yet," he theorized. "Did he come out with this story or did he say it _after_ your father saw it was missing?"

Pausing to scan Merlin up and down, Arthur answered in a thoughtful tone, "After."

Merlin's eyes widened in a desperate expression, as though this were enough to prove his point, but Arthur still seemed doubtful.

"Arthur, you have to believe me," he asked of him sincerely. "I didn't steal anything."

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly at Merlin, examining him again as though trying to decide what to think. After a beat, he nodded softly once and said, "I believe you."

Merlin tried to fight back the relieved smile that threatened to crack his face, but it was cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps walking down the corridor. Arthur heard them, too, and he cast a hurried look over his shoulder at the door before saying, "Someone's coming. Hide."

There was a brief moment where Merlin searched around the room wildly for a place to conceal himself, and his eyes finally landed on the wardrobe. Jumping over the pile of shirts on the floor, he rushed towards the cupboard and stuffed himself amongst the hanging clothing. He closed the double doors as much as he could without the knobs, leaving a sliver of light between them.

The main door of the room opened forcefully again and, when Merlin leaned forward to peer out of the crack, he saw Uther and Aredian stride in before Arthur.

"Is he in here?" Uther demanded.

From behind, Merlin watched Arthur shake his blonde head. "Do you see him anywhere?"

Both newcomers took a sweeping look around, and Merlin held back a gasp and stepped away from the light until he was sure they hadn't spotted him.

"He isn't in his room, either," Aredian reported, "and his mother hasn't seen him since the morning. It could be possible that he ran off, sir. Wouldn't that prove his guilt?"

"Or he's just off somewhere doing chores," Arthur offered in defense. "Are you certain you've checked everywhere?" When Aredian nodded, Arthur appealed to Uther by saying, "Father, I'm just not convinced that Merlin would be capable of something like this."

"If he didn't do it, who did?" Uther countered.

Merlin couldn't see Arthur's face, but he was almost certain his eyes had flashed to Aredian for only a fraction of a second before he said, "I don't know."

"And you can't prove anything," Uther told him, already marching out of the room. "I want the boy found! That watch is priceless!"

Aredian gave Arthur a fleeting browse before following Uther out and closing the door behind him.

When he was sure they weren't coming back, Merlin jumped out of the wardrobe and paced hurriedly to Arthur. "What do we do?" he worried.

"If Aredian really did steal the watch, like you say, it has to be with his possessions," Arthur told him. "He wouldn't risk carrying it around with him. While he and my father search for you, his room will be empty. We'll have to get to it and take a look around."

Merlin agreed with the plan, but he shook his head. "I'll go," he offered. "Don't risk your neck for me anymore."

"No," Arthur told him at once. "We go together. You have no business searching his room, but I do. If you find it, it'll just be your word against his. He might claim you put it there to frame him. Besides, everyone in the manor will be looking for you now, and the last thing we need is for you get caught. Two pairs of eyes watching your backside are better than one."

Merlin didn't know why he flushed slightly at the prospect of Arthur watching his backside, and he mentally shook the feeling away. The strategy made sense, and Arthur wasn't going to let him argue anyway, so they set off together.

The walk from Arthur's room to the servants' wing had never been longer, and it might have been a perilous voyage to the edge of the country, but Merlin felt safer with Arthur at his side. They were able to dodge servants whenever they came upon one, and luckily they never bumped into Uther and Aredian; but there was a close call when Merlin took for granted the ease of their progress and nearly ran into two passing servants as he rounded a corner in the hallway closest to the designated wing.

Luckily, Arthur had finely tuned reflexes: he grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, pulled him back, and slammed his back against the wall so he wouldn't move. Arthur, however, didn't move either, and they stood facing each other with their bodies held close together, so much so that Merlin could feel Arthur's breathing. Arthur had his head turned towards the adjacent corridor, watching and waiting for the servants to go away, but Merlin found he couldn't concentrate on such matters. He looked down his nose between them, at their chests touching through the fabric of their shirts, and he didn't quite know why his heart suddenly began to race. He chalked it up to the adrenaline of the moment, but it lingered when Arthur stepped back and said warily, "Alright, come on." Merlin tried to shake the tingling sensation on the skin of his torso as they walked the last stretch to Aredian's room.

As predicted, it was empty when they got inside, and Arthur instructed Merlin to ransack the dresser while he took the stand at the bedside.

"Anything?" Arthur asked after a few minutes of searching.

"Nothing," Merlin reported with dejection, looking back at the dozens of drawers that were now torn up and picked apart. Across the room, Arthur straightened out and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's not here, Merlin," he said incredulously, and he gave Merlin another scrutinizing look as though reassessing his belief in him. It made Merlin's heart plummet.

"No, it's got to be!" Merlin said frantically. "It's here; I know it." Desperately, he fit himself between the corner of the room and the edge of the dresser and forced his weight against it, trying to get it to move. "Maybe he's hid it behind this—" he grunted as he heaved, but the furniture did not budge.

"Merlin, that's enough," Arthur said softly, appearing at his side.

Merlin exerted himself in another attempt and, beneath his foot, a floorboard whined and slid back slightly. Merlin stopped what he was doing, and Arthur also reacted to the sound. After Merlin stepped away from the loose board, he and Arthur crouched down around it and Arthur dug his nails between the spaces until it lifted away. Inside, Merlin saw an antique gold watch, a pair of diamond earrings, and some rather expensive looking cufflinks.

Arthur scooped them out and examined them one by one. "This is Father's," he said about the watch before moving to the earrings, "and Morgana's." Finally, he gaped down at the cufflinks and exclaimed, "These are _mine_! I thought I'd lost these weeks ago!"

Merlin perked up at the statement. "How many weeks? Before I arrived here?"

Arthur caught his eyes and nodded slowly.

"_See_? I couldn't have taken them, then!" Merlin said, proving his innocence, and Arthur realized it, too. "But why would Aredian steal these things?" he wondered.

Arthur snorted humorlessly. "Any number of reasons," he said. "Maybe to pawn them off. And, I'll tell you what: These haven't been the first things that have gone missing in his house." There was a small pause into which Arthur shook his head, looking betrayed. "I don't understand. Aredian has been in our family's employment since my father was a boy. I thought he was trustworthy . . ."

"I'm sorry," Merlin told him comfortingly.

"Not as sorry as he's going to be," Arthur assured him. He replaced the treasures back beneath the floor and put the board over it before standing up. Merlin followed his motion. "I'm going to bring Father here to see for himself. I'll tell him the truth. You'd better get out of here and find somewhere to hide until I do."

Merlin nodded gratefully, taking a glance back at the floorboard. "What's going to happen to him?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Probably the same thing that would have happened to you," Arthur answered. "He'll be sacked on the spot and asked to leave immediately, without any references. Now, go on. Don't worry about him and worry about yourself for now."

As Arthur hurried towards the door, his usual swagger replaced with haste, Merlin realized this must have been the first actively kind thing Arthur had ever done for him. There was a reason for that kindness. Merlin had been wrong before: Arthur _did_ trust him, so much that he would protect Merlin even without evidence of his innocence. Maybe life in Camelot Manor wasn't going to be so bad, after all.

However, Aredian wouldn't enjoy its luxuries for much longer, not that Merlin felt bad. If the items he'd stolen really were as valuable as they looked, Aredian deserved what was coming to him.

When Arthur was halfway out the door, Merlin called his name and halted him. "The watch? Is it really priceless?" he asked, just to be sure.

Arthur had one foot outside the threshold as he considered the question.

"Probably not," he decided on. "Father can put a price on anything."

When he continued to rush out, he left the door open for Merlin.

* * *

"Open."

Merlin didn't stretch his jaw too much at the request, so Mordred stuck two latex-gloved fingers on top of his bottom teeth and pressed down. He shined a penlight into Merlin's mouth, peering around until he was satisfied. When he was, the torch clicked off and Mordred straightened out with a smile.

"Good," he said cheerfully. "Don't you feel better now that you're taking your medication?"

Merlin really didn't. It seemed like he was on everything: anti-depressants, anti-anxiety pills, castration, sedation, and, once in awhile, something that he could only describe as a low dose of a hallucinogen. Along with the insulin that they pumped him full of each night and the muscle relaxant he was given during treatment, he wondered if anything in his body was natural anymore, or if the cocktail in his veins powered it all.

He shot Mordred a filthy look in lieu of an answer, and Mordred's expression dropped.

"Alright, then," he said in a breath, trying to remain cheerful. "Why don't you go on and stretch your legs before your meeting with the doctor?"

His doctor was no longer Bayard. Odin had been facilitating Merlin's psychotherapy sessions for the past two weeks, and the only great revelation that had come from it was the mutual realization that each man hated the other more than they'd originally thought. Merlin felt less than human in Odin's presence, like the doctor didn't see Merlin as a person but as something in a test tube that could be poked and prodded and then written about in his medical journal. In response to that feeling, Merlin was more belligerent than ever. He'd learned all the usual tricks employed by psychiatrists from Bayard—like staying silent so the patient will feel compelled to keep speaking—and tried using them against Odin. Of course, he was sure Odin knew some tricks Bayard didn't, but Merlin still felt a rush of success every time he could ruse Odin.

Odin didn't like that at all.

Taking Mordred's advice, even though he wouldn't admit it, Merlin shuffled out of his room and down the corridor towards the common area. It was getting more and more difficult to tell how long he'd been asleep for. It could have been days, but Merlin wouldn't be surprised if it had been a full a week. With his biological clock now failing him, he was lucky that one of the staff members at the nurses' station kept a calendar in her workspace. It was one of those block calendars that required the user to turn over a cube each day to provide the correct date. As he walked passed, he glanced at it out of the corner of his eyes. If it was correct, the date was the 22th of September—four days since Merlin had seen it last.

He kept walking down the corridor, pausing only once at Gwen's old room. He didn't know why he tortured himself by looking inside the window, each time hoping she'd be in there, but she wasn't. It didn't take them long to replace her with another patient, a blonde called Elena who was currently under DST. Her hair was the same color gold as Arthur's, which served as a reminder for Merlin. If he believed in such things, he would think Gwen had sent Elena and her hair to keep her promise of not letting Merlin's memory of Arthur slip. It only kept him clinging on to that one feature, however; the rest were becoming hazy again, and he felt like he was letting Gwen down.

She had died of an insulin overdose. The doctors caught it too late. All the methods of treatment had weakened her body too much, until finally it could no longer handle the drug. Merlin was convinced it had been the shot of insulin he witnessed the orderly give Gwen after she'd scratched him that did her in. Merlin had watched it happen, and he did nothing to help her; he only made excuses in the moment. If only he had stepped in. If only he had done something . . .

He would have preferred Gwen's bushy curls to Elena's locks any day.

Gwaine was in the common room when Merlin got there. He was sitting at one of the tables along the window, looking out indifferently at the sunless grounds. After their last conversation, Merlin felt awkward whenever he caught sight of Gwaine, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that Gwaine's moods had been capricious since the day they met. Although, he seemed to have only one emotion these days: apathy. Still, Gwaine was the only person Merlin had left to talk to, so he steeled himself and slid into the chair across the table.

"Hey, Gwaine," Merlin said tentatively, and Gwaine gave no immediate response. He kept staring out the window, giving Merlin the opportunity to scan his face. In it, there was almost nothing of the man he'd met three months ago.

Finally, Gwaine turned his head to face Merlin. He looked at him quizzically for the briefest second, as though he was trying to figure out where he knew Merlin from, and then said softly, like he'd only just realized the new presence, "Oh. Hey, Merlin."

Merlin's smile wasn't as shining as it used to be, but he stretched it as far as he could muster.

"Haven't seen you around much lately," Gwaine continued, and Merlin shook his head.

"No. Odin's got me under his microscope."

"Oh," Gwaine said again, sounding nonchalant. "That's good."

Merlin's smile fell, and he knitted his brows together in question. Had Gwaine even heard what he'd said?

"What are you talking about? It's awful," Merlin hissed. "He's trying to break me down." He shook his head and ran his tongue across his lips in thought. "But I won't let him."

"Why not?" Gwaine wondered, knocking Merlin out of his thoughts. "Rebellion's for kids, Merlin."

"And you used to be the _leader_ of the rebellion," Merlin reminded him harshly. Gwaine's eyes found the tabletop, and Merlin leaned in to fish for them again. "What's changed, Gwaine?"

"Nothing. I dunno," Gwaine muttered. Then, more loudly, he said, "Guess I just realized I'm tired of being sick. I mean, what's wrong with trying to get better?"

Merlin blinked and stammered at him for a moment, not believing what he was hearing.

"You don't _need_ to get better," he tried, but Gwaine snorted bitterly.

"You don't know what it's like," he said. "You haven't been in and out of different hospitals for the last . . ._ forever_. Don't even remember what home looks like anymore. I'd like to see it again. I'd like to—," he let out a shaky breath and ran his hand through his long hair as he cast another glance out the window, "—see what it's like out there in the world. All the doctors I've ever had have tried everything else. Why not give this a go?"

"Because," Merlin started, wondering how it came to be that he had to explain something so obvious to Gwaine of all people. "They're not trying to help you get better. They don't care about you. They're trying to _control_ you—trying to prove _whatever_ hypothesis Odin has for his experiment. You should see him, scribbling away in that journal of his all the time."

He leaned in closer, trying to make himself perfectly clear.

"He wants to take over your mind, just to see if he can."

Gwaine only shrugged. "Whatever gets me out of hospital robes. If it works, it works."

Merlin searched Gwaine's face beseechingly, looking for a hint of doubt. "Gwaine . . . You can't be thinking this. You can't just give up."

"I'm not giving up, Merlin," he said in a whisper. "You just gotta know when it's time to throw in the towel."

With that, Merlin knew Gwaine was gone. He was passed help, passed reason. It was as though he had joined Gwen already, and Merlin felt a piece of him break and wither away. If someone like Gwaine could be corrupted, how could Merlin's will power hold strong?

He physically shook the thought away, but it lingered. He couldn't stay there. He couldn't look at Gwaine. Maybe if he were out of Merlin's sight, the thought would dissipate and weaken.

Without a goodbye, Merlin got out of the chair and started back for his room. He had to collect himself before his session with the doctor. He couldn't allow Odin to see him with any uncertainties. So, he resisted the urge to turn back to Gwaine; but it hardly mattered. Gwaine had gone back to staring out the window.

* * *

He stayed silent through the entire session. He didn't trust himself to say a word, as he couldn't prevent his thoughts from dwelling on Gwaine. He couldn't bring himself to speak or to listen, even if he wanted to. Odin took the silence for another rebellious tactic and answered by giving Merlin an ECT session later that afternoon before banishing him back to his room in the meantime.

In the lapse, Merlin obsessed himself with taking his mind off Gwaine's words. He could not allow them to affect him so much. He couldn't allow Gwaine's decisions to get under his skin. To convince himself that it wasn't too late to rid his mind of these thoughts, he stood in front of the mirror in his room and fixed himself with a hard stare.

However, Merlin didn't quite recognize his own reflection. He was sure there used to be laughter lines around sparkling eyes, not a wrinkled brow over two dull orbs. There used to be color to him, as well, and not red blotches on yellowed skin. He used to have a face, but now he couldn't quite make one out at all.

He touched the tips of his dry, cracked fingers to his all the more prominent cheekbone, expecting the cold numbness brought along with them. He could hardly remember the last time he was warm, or the last time he wasn't so accustomed to the chill in his bones. The thought evoked a slow inhale and a rattling exhale as he felt a stinging pressure behind his eyes.

"No," he demanded out loud, and he curled his fists against the rim on the dresser beneath the mirror to steady himself. He kept his jaw muscles stiff and his expression set, determined to stop his eyes from becoming bloodshot and his nose from flushing.

But, though he tried hard, he could not tune out the notions that swirled through his mind, causing his knuckles to turn white against his grip.

Gwen was dead, and Gwaine had given up. His father was no longer there to provide comfort and his mother abandoned him. And Arthur—

Arthur had lied.

Arthur had not kept his promise. He had not visited again. He didn't come back. He left Merlin alone to rot and decay—to forget.

His body shuddered with a sob, but he forced it down. He couldn't let them get into his head. He had to stay strong.

But why?

Why not admit weakness? Why not give in? In that moment, a simple truth overwhelmed him and passed him into a strange kind of calmness: He was going to die there, in that hospital—in the very room he currently stood. And no one would notice because everyone already left him. Whether his body or mind would die first, he did not know, but the darkness was ebbing in; the long, dreamless sleep was after him. His only fear was that, when it finally caught up to him, it would be a relief.

What was the point of raging against the inevitable?

He felt a tug at his heartstrings, but that was good. That meant he was still there—alive, and not transparent against the whitewashed backdrop. His breath fought to escape, trembling as it left him, and his eyes burned with moisture that filled him up and dropped from his lashes.

And they all told him he was alive.

But why not accept that he wouldn't be for much longer?

Every muscle of his body tightened, his hands shook with tension against the dresser, and a famished, dehydrated headache blossomed in his temples. And he couldn't fight the dull, thudding ache anymore. He doubled over in front of the mirror and let his pent up emotion pour out.

* * *

There was a long, drawn-out pulse as the humming of the machine filled up the room. The red lights above the switches on the dashboard glared angrily and the needles on the meters had almost filled their circles. But Merlin was numb to the surges. His body still contorted and responded as it was supposed to, but he could not longer hear his own shouts or register his pain. All he felt was a tingle as the humming came to a rest.

"What is your name?" Odin's voice asked from somewhere in the darkness.

"Merlin Emrys," he responded. It was second nature to respond to this question in this way without thinking about it, but not for the reasons it had been before he came to the hospital.

More humming, more spikes peaking on the machine that recorded Merlin's vitals.

"What is your name?"

The answer did not change, but it was said with more exhaustion.

After the next surge, there was a pause into which Merlin's breath replaced the buzzing of the machine. The hesitation was just long enough for Merlin to wonder if the doctor had gone away and left him alone in the darkness. Just as he became convinced of it, Odin's voice rang out again.

"How long have you been here?"

Merlin was about to answer with his own name before the question fully processed in his mind. He thought it over, expecting the answer to come to him. He had just seen a calendar earlier that day; he was sure of it. Or maybe he'd seen it last week? What date had it read anyway?

"How _long_ have you been here?" Odin asked again, sounding impatient.

Merlin tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. The machine keeping track of his heart rate spiked without the aid of the electricity, and its long sheet of graph paper poured over the side of the table and bundled on the floor.

"I don't—" Merlin tried to respond, but his voice was too low and it hadn't been heard.

There was another electric pulse, one that broke through his resistance and immunity and paralyzed him with agony. His temples thumped when the surge subsided.

"How long have you been here?" he was asked again, and Merlin knew it was for the best to answer immediately this time.

"I don't—" he stammered again, as loud as he could, but his throat was constricting and his chest was tightening with shaking emotion.

"I don't know."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen.**

Arthur tried every day for three weeks to get to Merlin, but Uther kept him tied up with wedding plans. He and Mithian were taken to venues and churches, met with planners and caterers, and assured that no expense would be spared. Arthur had the distinct impression that Uther was deliberately trying to hurry it all along. At the rate they were going, Arthur would be married within the calendar year, even before Morgana.

At last, on an afternoon in the first week of October, he was able to slip away and head for the hospital. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel the entire way over, and he practiced what he was going to tell Merlin at least a half-dozen times on the drive over and in the lift ride to Merlin's floor. He prayed Merlin would be awake and, if he wasn't, Arthur resolved to stay as long as he had to until he could speak with Merlin properly.

As he turned the corner to the hallway, he saw the door of Merlin's room swing open, and Merlin emerged from it. His back was to Arthur as he started in the opposite direction down the corridor, no doubt headed towards the recreation room, but Arthur had to stop him before he got there. This was a conversation that was better conducted away from the prying ears of the orderlies and nurses.

"Merlin! Merlin," Arthur called as loud as he dared, still trying to sound casual. When Merlin didn't react, Arthur jogged towards him until he was at arm's length, when Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

He'd lost more weight since Arthur's last visit, and he looked paler. He did not say anything as he looked at Arthur, but he did gasp at the initial touch, and he looked almost surprised to see him.

"Merlin, I need to talk to you," Arthur said at once. He looked around covertly, keeping an eye out for any staff members as he grabbed Merlin gingerly at the elbow and pulled him closer to the wall. Merlin allowed himself to be lead without a single ounce of resistance.

Now that they were away from the middle of the hallway, Arthur faced Merlin again, trying to stay strong—trying not to let his eyes wander to his shoes or the wall his left shoulder now leaned on. Taking a deep breath of preparation, he realized he'd forgotten his entire practiced speech and, like word vomit, he said, "It's my father, Merlin. He—he expects me to marry."

He paused, giving that time to sink in, but Merlin only blinked at him, looking shocked.

"_Soon_," Arthur emphasized. "The engagement is official. He told me only hours before the announcement dinner. He no doubt meant to spring it on me, probably so I couldn't find a way out of it. But she—The girl I'm to marry . . ." Arthur shook his head at the thought of her. "You'd love her, Merlin. She's intelligent and kind and thoughtful and she's very dear to me—but I don't see her in that way. _You_ are the _only_ person I have ever seen in that way."

When he looked up again, Merlin's eyes were narrowed at him incredulously and his lips were parted. His eyes were searching Arthur's features rapidly, and Arthur's searched back.

"I don't know what to do, Merlin," he said, softer now, feeling the problem press upon him like a weight. "What should I do?"

Merlin stayed silent for a long time, staring at him, his Adam's apple straining against hard swallows, and he appeared to be thinking. Arthur knitted his brows at the expression and leaned off of the wall.

"Merlin?" he asked. Something wasn't right.

"Your eyes. I've seen them before," Merlin said softly.

Arthur shook his head, not understanding. "What?"

Merlin tilted his head to the side, concentrating on Arthur's face. "I _know_ you."

It was a strange sensation. Both at once, Arthur felt as though the walls had crashed down upon him and that he was floating in midair somewhere very far away. His pulse was racing as though he'd just run a great distance and his mouth suddenly felt very dry.

And Merlin kept staring.

"No," Arthur breathed involuntarily. It brought with it a full-body chill, causing goose bumps to prickle his skin. However, it also snapped him back into his senses.

"No, Merlin, look at me," he said, clutching on to either of Merlin's biceps and leaning in close to make sure he held Merlin's gaze. "_Look at me_. You _do_ know me. Merlin—It's me. It's Arthur."

His words hitched slightly during the last sentence, but he held firm. Merlin, on the other hand, looked more confused than ever. He became visibly upset, his face turning a soft red.

"Merlin, you know me," Arthur tried again. "Please, you _have_ to fight it! You can't—you can't do this. You can't leave me. Merlin, it's _Arthur_!"

Merlin's mouth hung open again, moving in silent words until he finally said, "Arthur."

Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin had remembered him or if he was just parroting the name, but it was a start, and it relieved him slightly.

"Yes, Merlin," he said, nodding feverishly. "Please, say you know me. It's Arthur."

Two staff members walked passed, throwing them cautious looks, and Arthur suddenly remembered they weren't in private. Straightening out quickly, he dragged Merlin back into his room and closed the door behind them. When he turned around again, Merlin's eyes were full of frustrated and baffled tears and he was shaking his head stiffly.

"It's alright," Arthur coaxed, pacing in close to him and holding a palm to Merlin's cheek. "You're going to be alright."

"I don't—" Merlin stammered, letting a few tears drop. Something in his eyes broke. "I don't know—Arthur . . ."

Arthur doubled his grip by placing his other hand on Merlin's face and stroking the skin softly. "You know me, Merlin," he shushed.

Merlin skewed his eyes shut tightly and shook his head again.

"No. No, no, no . . ." he repeated over and over again until he was shouting it, and Arthur felt the air leave the room.

"I _can't_!" Merlin yelled, breaking away from Arthur and clutching at his head, doubling over like a limp doll. "I can't find his face! _Arthur_!"

"I'm here," Arthur told him, feeling his cheeks turn hot and his eyes sting. He rushed to Merlin and brought him back to a stand, forcing Merlin to look at him full in the face. "Merlin, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Just look at me."

Merlin was swaying, apparently not in control of his own limbs, and he was still shaking his head.

"He left me," he muttered thickly through his tears, and Arthur didn't know what to do console him. He didn't know how to prove that he was right there, that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Merlin, come here," Arthur said in a breath, and he tilted Merlin's head in for a kiss, but before he could make it even halfway, Merlin shoved him off, causing Arthur to stumble backward.

"No, no," Merlin was chanting again as he turned away from Arthur. "I can't. They'll send me back." He placed his fingers to the red patches on his temples and rubbed deeply, like he was frantically trying to wipe them off, but it only exacerbated the color.

"They'll send me back," he said again in a whisper. "They'll send me back . . ."

For a moment, as he watched Merlin murmur and the rigid line of his shoulders shutter, Arthur felt paralyzed. Then his muscled shook with tension, from his jaw to his fists, and he was enraged. He couldn't bear to be in the hospital a moment longer. He felt like he'd be sick if he did.

His anger driving him, he tore the door open and fled from the room without any conscious decision to do so. Behind him, Merlin realized Arthur had left, and his expression turned to panic. He rushed to the threshold and shouted after him, crying his name, but Arthur didn't look back—couldn't look back.

His vision was blurred with anger as he jammed the button that called the lift, pressing it in until his finger turned bright red and white.

He was no longer unsure of what to do. His thoughts were racing, but everything was so clear. He had to get Merlin out of there. He had to defy his father. He had to get them both out of their prisons.

* * *

He let out a yell as he smacked the back of his hand against the scotch bottle on Uther's drinks trolley in the parlor. The glass container knocked over with a rattle and fell to the floor, causing the amber liquid to pool amongst the shattered remains. Arthur's hand was throbbing and red because of it, but he barely noticed over the pulsing sensation that overtook the rest of his body.

"Arthur! I understand you're cross," Morgana shouted from her safe distance across the room, trying to calm him down. Outside, the sun was a navy blue line on the horizon, and the waxing moon was already peeking through the curtains and casting shadows throughout the parlor.

"I am _beyond_ cross, Morgana!" he bellowed. "I am _furious_! How—How could Father allow this? These are people—not experiments! _Merlin_ isn't an experiment for Father's so-called betterment of science!"

"I understand," Morgana said, nodding her agreement fervently.

"Good," Arthur said, and he was happy to hear it, even if he was still seeing red. "Then you'll help me."

Morgana jerked her head back, perplexed. "Help you? Help you with what?"

"Getting him out of there!" Arthur shouted as though it were obvious. He started pacing the length of the carpet, brainstorming ideas. Morgana only stared at him blankly.

"You can't be serious," she said in a humorless laugh.

"Of course, I'm serious," he told her. "Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"Arthur, getting you inside to see him is one thing, but you're talking about breaking him out. Do you know how difficult that would be?" Morgana asked.

"Oh, please, Morgana; it's a hospital, not Auschwitz," he argued.

"Yes, a hospital where everyone knows the Pendragon name," she countered pragmatically. "If Father ever found out . . . It's too risky. Besides, if you _do_ get him out, what then? I don't think Father will just turn a blind eye. You can't bring him here!"

Arthur stopped pacing and looked off at the windows on the other side of the room. He closed his eyes slowly, suddenly feeling calm with clarity.

"No, I can't," he said softly, staring at the red glow of the setting sun through his eyelids.

"No, you—" Morgana started to agree with conviction, but she must have processed his tone, because her expression softened and for a while she just stared at him. "You don't mean to come back."

He could hardly stand the hurt on her features, but he forced himself to look at her. She _had_ to understand.

"You said to me that my relationship with Merlin is no different than yours and Leon's, but you were wrong," he told her. "You and Leon can build a life together, while Merlin and I never can—not here. So, yes. _When_ I get him out of there—and I _will_—I plan on putting Kent as far behind us as possible."

He watched her swallow passed the lump in her throat, visibly fighting back her emotion.

"It's the only way, Morgana," he finished, and he couldn't deny the pain it caused him in doing so. It was like saying goodbye to her already.

Jutting out her jaw, she steeled herself and nodded her understanding.

"You're absolutely sure about this?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered immediately. "I'm more sure about this than I have been about anything before. That, I know."

"Okay," she accepted. "Then, I will help in any way I can."

He was about to thank her when the clicking of a door sounded from across the room, and they both looked up instantly, fearfully, at the entrance to the parlor. It was closed, but something had moved it; and it wasn't the wind, as no windows were open.

"Who was that?" Morgana asked, panic rising in her tone.

"I don't know," Arthur answered shortly, controlling his fear as they both rushed towards the door. He tore it open, and each of them looked in one direction down either side of the shadowy corridor.

It was empty.

"You don't think someone overheard us, do you?" Morgana worried, but Arthur did not answer.

He took one last sweeping look around the vacant space, trying to convince himself that the door closing was his imagination. But then why had Morgana heard it, too?

They locked eyes in a silent conversation, both of them knowing that, if they were to rescue Merlin, they'd better do it soon.

* * *

_22__nd__ June, 1947_

Arthur was kissing Merlin even before the bedroom door swung fully shut. He couldn't contain himself a moment longer; he couldn't keep from holding Merlin's cheeks between his hands and plating quick, hungry kisses on his lips. Merlin was humming and laughing into them, and the vibrations made Arthur's heart leap out of his chest.

It was always the hardest to resist Merlin in the summer, when the heat would cause his neck to glisten with a layer of sweat and the warm breeze would make his hair dance and ripple. The sun turned his eyes into a shade of dark violet and highlighted his fair skin. Arthur felt like he was treading on pins and needles all day, frustrated and watching the hands of his watch tick much too slowly in procession towards the night, but he could not look away from Merlin no matter how hard he tried.

Merlin was always better at keeping his glances in check, but there were times throughout the day when Arthur caught him staring. There was just something about the season that made them hopelessly desirable to each other.

Merlin ran the tips of his fingers up Arthur's arm, stopping at the elbow, where the white shirtsleeves had been rolled up, and abandoned them to unbutton Arthur's waistcoat. When it had been discarded, Arthur worked on the buttons of his shirt as Merlin unknotted his tie. It was far too many layers, especially for summer, but Arthur was less happy about taking Merlin's shirt off. It had no buttons, so Arthur had no choice but to desert Merlin's lips as he pulled the hem up over his head. Still, he was pleased with the result since it allowed him to run his palms down Merlin's chest and push their bodies closer together without any unnecessary fabric between them.

In the meantime, Merlin had unbuckled Arthur's trousers and slid his hands down the front to massage Arthur's inner thighs. It elicited a moan from Arthur, and he buried his face into the crook of Merlin's neck to stifle it. The sweet smell of earth and summer air coating Merlin's skin filled his nose.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Merlin's waist and spun them around before walking them backwards to the bed. He let himself fall back when his knees hit the side of the mattress, and Merlin toppled over on top of him with another chuckle.

They each toed off their shoes, and Arthur dragged his palm down Merlin's spine until it hit the top of his trousers, which Arthur reached between them to unbuckle and force down until Merlin had to kick them off the rest of the way. Happy that they were gone, Arthur ran his hands roughly along the curve of Merlin's ass, and Merlin caught him at the wrist to stop the movement.

"Hey," he whispered hoarsely, a grin painting his lips, and Arthur looked up at him apologetically, even though he already knew he was forgiven for his haste.

Merlin rose up to straddle Arthur, and Arthur watched as the light of the moon illuminated Merlin's swollen lips and enlarged pupils. Digging his fingers into Arthur's ribs, he moved his hips in slow circles so that his bottom rubbed against the open fly of Arthur's trousers. The friction made Arthur twitch and squirm as low grunts, which Merlin obviously found very amusing, escaped him.

Merlin swooped back down again, kissing patiently around Arthur's hardened nipples and down his torso. Arthur grabbed on to any piece of skin he could find for support, but he let Merlin take the lead. He was always so much better at this, anyway.

Arthur's skin prickled as Merlin planted his lips along the hem of his trousers before using his opened palm to slide them off. Then he was gone. He was leaning off the bed and fumbling around with the contents of Arthur's bedside drawer until he came back with a bottle of lubricant. He hummed again when he placed another kiss to Arthur's belly button; then he followed the trail of sweat and saliva back up Arthur's body until meeting his lips and, reaching down between them, worked the lube onto Arthur's arousal. It made Arthur dig his fingers into Merlin's shoulder blades and buck into his grip.

Merlin wrapped his long legs around Arthur's waist, and they sat up on the mattress, limbs entwined and bodies swaying rhythmically together. Arthur could feel Merlin's erection against his stomach as he dipped his neck and ran his tongue across Merlin's exposed Adam's apple, and downward to the space between his collarbone.

His ears were heightened to Merlin's heaving breaths, filling all his empty spaces, and the sounds he made as he swallowed.

"Arthur," Merlin chanted as he ran his hands along Arthur's hipbones, his long fingers clutching desperately at the skin and brushing Arthur gently.

He couldn't take it anymore; he thought he might burst.

"Mm. Merlin," Arthur grunted, aware that Merlin's heart was beating just as fast as his through their chests.

"I know," Merlin said with a breath of laughter, planting another quick, teasing kiss on Arthur's plump lips. "I just like to watch you suffer."

"You're an idiot," Arthur said lightly as Merlin pushed away and turned around to sit on his lap.

"You love m—_ee_," Merlin gasped as Arthur entered him.

He worked his hips up and down, listening to Merlin groan contentedly as he bounced slowly on top of him. Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around Merlin's stomach, holding him closer until Merlin's spine was tucked against his chest so that Arthur could feel every muscle in his back tense and twist.

Still keeping one arm around him, Arthur reached a hand down and worked it along Merlin's shaft. Merlin rested the back of his head on Arthur's shoulder and let out choked, happy noises. There was a dreamy smile on his face that made Arthur chuckle softly until Merlin sat up straight and strained his neck to look at Arthur. His face was framed by the moonlight.

"I love you," he promised, running his hand along Arthur's cheek.

"I love you back," Arthur told him. Merlin grinned widely, and Arthur pressed a long kiss to it.

They kept their eyes locked as Arthur's thrusts quickened. Merlin's whole body shook and squirmed as all the heat in Arthur's body rushed to his abdomen. He curled his toes as Merlin twirled his ankles, both letting out sounds that they long ago learned they must stifle to the best of their abilities.

Merlin came first, into Arthur's hand, and Arthur followed close behind. They fell limply against the pillows; Merlin rolled over to face Arthur, and they wrapped their arms around each other like they planned on never letting go. They smiled at each other sleepily from atop the pillows until Merlin curled up closer to him and let his eyes fall closed.

Arthur must have watched him breathe shallowly and grunt softly in the first stages of sleep for a quarter of an hour until Merlin's eyes fluttered back open and he whispered, "I'd better go."

He didn't sound pleased about it, and Arthur's heart sank.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, redoubling his grip, which had slackened in the passing time, around Merlin. "Stay."

Merlin chewed on his bottom lip and grunted in thought. The sound reverberated through Arthur, but he contained himself.

"Arthur," Merlin said in ways of protest, even though it was halfhearted.

"Come on, stay with me tonight," Arthur pleaded. "I want to wake up to you."

The shadow of a smile pressed Merlin's lips, but he said, "We're getting careless."

Arthur brought his head in closer on the pillow, giving him big eyes.

"_Please_."

Merlin rolled his eyes and smirked in consideration. After a beat, he nodded against the pillow.

"Yes."

"Yes?" Arthur asked excitedly, his eyebrows darting up to his hairline.

"_Yes_," Merlin laughed before closing the space between them to press a kiss to Arthur's lips.

Arthur laid on his back so Merlin could rest his head on his chest and they could tangle their legs together. He brushed the tips of his fingers absentmindedly up and down Merlin's lean forearm, and Merlin fell asleep almost instantly.

The last thing he remembered was the way the moonbeams hit Merlin's hair and listening to the sound of his breathing as Arthur drifted off.

* * *

"_Get up_!"

Arthur was jolted awake by two strong hands gripping him by the shirt and tearing him from his bed before he was fully conscious.

"Get up, _now_!"

The sound of Uther's voice made Arthur completely alert, and his first instinct was to struggle against those hands dragging him to the door of his bedroom. He stumbled slightly over his own feet. Uther was walking too fast for him and he could hardly keep up.

"Father?" he asked, his heart racing with panic, but he wasn't sure why.

Uther hoisted Arthur in front of him and pushed him backwards out of the door so forcefully that Arthur crashed into the opposite wall of the hallway and fell to a heap on the hardwood.

"Don't you _dare_ speak," Uther demanded venomously.

Down the hall, two doors swung open in close unison: Morgana's and Mithian's. Both women were awoken by the shouts and the crash against the wall, and they wore expressions of fear as they caught sight of Uther standing, fists clenched, over Arthur.

"Get up," he said again, his voice shaking with fury.

Arthur blinked up at him in alarm but did not move. He held his palms up before him, half in surrender and half as a barrier between himself and Uther.

"Father . . . Father, please," he panted.

When Arthur didn't follow his command, Uther sprang on him. He manhandled Arthur to his feet, pulled him into a tight headlock, and dragged Arthur down the corridor.

"No!" Morgana was shouting, and Mithian's hands were folded over her mouth as though in prayer. "Father, _stop it_!"

"What are you doing?" Arthur gasped, trying and failing to break away from Uther as they got closer to the stairs. "Let go of me!"

"Let go of him!" Morgana was crying.

"Get back into your room!" Uther roared at her as they passed her door. "I'll deal with you later." He didn't even cast Mithian a glance as he continued to walk, and Arthur continued to struggle to no avail.

Arthur almost tripped a number of times while descending the steps, but Uther eventually managed to get him into the parlor, where he threw Arthur into the armchair. Upon impact, it reared onto its back legs, but Arthur caught his balance and the chair settled. He looked up into Uther's glare like he was staring into the mouth of a monster and made himself as small and as rigid as he could against the leather upholstery.

"Father, I don't—" Arthur stammered, his gaze wildly searching the room. "I don't understand—"

And then he saw George, standing in the corner of the room with his hands folded silently behind his back. He was still and expressionless. At once, Arthur remembered the closing door he and Morgana had heard earlier that night in that very room. He closed his eyes slowly into the realization.

"Look at me," Uther told him firmly, and Arthur had no choice but to open his eyes. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't seen the boy."

Arthur took in another breath, but it was shaking this time. In fact, all of him was shaking.

"_Tell me!"_ Uther barked, and Arthur felt his heart jump.

"I've seen him," he admitted. It didn't even occur to him to lie. "I've been visiting him."

"For how long?" Uther demanded.

"About a month and a half," Arthur responded immediately.

Uther bared his teeth and there was a pause before he looked over his shoulder at George.

"Get out," he said simply, and George strode to the door and closed it behind him. Arthur's eyes followed him the entire time, and he was never so upset to see George leave.

For a long time, there was silence, into which Uther said, "You are to be married—_married _to the woman upstairs."

"I don't _want_ to marry her," Arthur defended meekly, unable to meet Uther's gaze. It almost sounded like he was begging. "I don't love her, Father."

Arthur gripped the armrests as Uther bent down and leaned in, forcing Arthur to look him in the eyes. Arthur pressed his back against the chair, trying to put as much space between himself and his father as possible.

"And this _boy_?" Uther spat. "You love him?"

Arthur's jaw clenched, and he nodded stiffly.

"And you're not ready to lose him?"

Arthur changed motion to shake his head.

"Too bad," Uther hissed through his teeth before standing up, and Arthur gasped like he'd been holding his breath. Maybe he had been.

"You're never to see him again," Uther said, turning his back to Arthur and heading towards the dead fireplace.

Arthur shook his head again, some of his courage returning now that Uther wasn't looking at him.

"You can't stop me," he said, and he was surprised that his bravado held when Uther wheeled around to face him.

"I can," he corrected. "He can no longer stay in my hospital system. I'm sending him away, preferably somewhere that won't be as costly. After all, his treatment will be out of Hunith's pocket now. I'm sure all she can afford will be an asylum in some godforsaken pit in Hull, where the orderlies won't be as kind and the doctors aren't afraid to beat out afflictions. I'd be surprised if he lasted a month."

Arthur felt that strange crushing and floating sensation as before, and he was finally able to put a name to it.

Helplessness.

Arthur was nothing compared to his father. Uther was a giant who sat up high on a throne, his words and influence as powerful as lightning bolts. In that moment, Arthur felt powerless and pathetic against his authority.

"No, you can't," he pleaded feebly.

"As for his mother—she's fired, effective immediately. I expect her gone by first light."

"No!" Arthur shouted, jumping to his feet in a renewed determination. He couldn't be the reason for _two_ lives being ruined; three, if he counted himself. "Where will she go in the middle of the night—especially with no money?"

"Perhaps you should have considered that," Uther told him passively. "Next time, you'll watch your actions."

"I won't allow you," Arthur said defiantly. "I'll go with her. I'll make sure she gets Merlin back."

"But we haven't discussed _you_ yet, son," Uther said with a mockery of kindness. "You're to be confided in this house until further notice. I won't even permit you into the garden." As he spoke, he stepped closer and closer until he crowded Arthur's personal space. "I'll have you watched your every waking hour to make sure you don't step out of line and, while you sleep, I'll have men posted outside your door and window if I have to. And don't think your doctors won't hear about this. I'll ensure they enhance your treatment regimes tenfold."

Arthur ground his teeth, looking mutinous the entire time Uther spoke. He no longer felt an inch of fear—only hate. He knew Uther wasn't doing this to help Arthur or to heal him; he wanted to teach Arthur a lesson against disobeying him.

"What are you going to do to me?" he spat. "Electrocute me? _Torture_ me? Experiment on me like I'm some kind of lab rat like you've been doing to the others, all for your _legacy_?"

"You're unwell," Uther told him, "more so than I thought."

"I'm not _sick_! Just because I refuse to do as you say doesn't mean I have a disease."

"Maybe so," Uther allowed, moving away again. "But I can't trust you. You're a liar."

Arthur felt his body tense, and he thought he might hit something—hit Uther. He wanted to so badly, but he settled for words.

"That's what happens when you're raised by a _bastard_!" he bellowed, no longer able to contain himself.

Uther's eyes were a mixture of shock and scathing. "Excuse me?"

"You don't care about anyone but yourself—not me, not Morgana. You always tell us to look after our own, but all you ever do is look out for yourself. You are selfish and a hypocrite and you are turning the _only_ family you have against you. Your children cannot _wait_ to get away from you." As his words gained momentum, he barely stopped to breathe. He wouldn't allow Uther a word in.

"Even your business. You say its making people's lives better, helping them heal, but that's not the real reason you do it. You just want to be _loved_ by all the wrong people. You want banquets held in your honor and people to grovel at your feet. You want your name in lights and to be remembered for years, but how is any of that worth it if the people closest to you hate you? If you drive them all away? Mother is fortunate to not see what you've become. She'd be _insulted_ if she knew her death prompted all this unhappiness."

"How dare you speak of her," Uther said, his voice low, like that had been the only part of the message that got through to him. "If she were alive now—"

"Perhaps you wouldn't be so cruel," Arthur cut in. "Armies of good people have died fighting men like you."

For a moment, it looked like Uther might throttle him, and Arthur squared his shoulders in preparation.

However, Uther looked to the door and shouted, "George!"

Soon after, the door squeaked open and George stepped through, looking calm and collected.

"Take him straight to his room and don't let him out until morning," Uther instructed, but his eyes were boring into Arthur's, and Arthur did not falter.

"Get out of my sight," Uther said finally with a whispered intensity, and Arthur shot him one last insolent glower before heading for the door and shoving passed the servant.

He stayed strong, not allowing his emotions to betray him—not even letting his emotions to be felt—especially because George was practically on top of him, right behind his ankles, as Arthur was marched back to his room. As he passed it, he wished Morgana would open her door and give him a supportive look, but he had no such luck. Next, he passed Mithian's door, and he found himself halting next to it.

"Sir?" George questioned, but Arthur didn't pay him any attention.

He strode towards the door and hovered a hesitant fist before the wood, meaning to knock but not finding the courage to do so.

"Sir, we must get you to—"

"I should talk to her," Arthur whispered, more to himself than to George. "I should explain."

Next to him, George squared his shoulders and said, "Sir, Lord Pendragon has instructed me to take you directly to your room and—"

"Shut up," Arthur said hatefully, turning his burning eyes to George. "Say one more word to me and it will be your last."

George closed his mouth immediately, gulped, and let his eyes flicker to the floor.

"Good," said Arthur, his tone still bitter. "Stay out here—and see if you can manage to keep your ears to yourself."

George nodded timidly, and Arthur knocked on the door of Mithian's room. She would have heard by now, learned the truth in the hard way. He supposed she'd be embarrassed. She wouldn't want to see him or speak with him ever again. She'd hate him. But he owed her an explanation, even if the conversation would end with her throwing something at him from across the room and dismissing herself from his life forever.

"Come in," he heard her soft voice beckon from the other side of the door, and he twisted the crystal knob hesitantly. He expected to find her haphazardly shoving clothes into a suitcase, but all her items were still in place. She was standing by the French doors that led out to the balcony, staring up at the stars.

When Arthur filled in the threshold, she turned away from the windows and stared at him for a long time. Her eyes were puffy but dry and her expression was unreadable. At once, he found he didn't know what to say.

"Mithian—" he decided was best to start with as he took a few steps into the room.

"How did it go?" she asked quickly, overriding him. Her voice was concerned.

The tone made him stop dead. The question shocked him.

"What?"

"Your talk with your father," she said patiently. "How did it go? Was he very upset with you?"

He gaped at her, not sure where this conversation was going. He imagined more apologizing on his part and much more screaming on her end by that point. Instead, she rushed passed him and quietly closed the door, giving them privacy.

"You're not angry?" he asked unsurely, spinning around to follow her with his eyes.

"Would you like me to be?" she inquired.

"I—No," he realized, blinking away his confusion.

"Good, now that that's settled," she said airily, moving away from the door and pulling out the chair next to the vanity mirror. She gestured for him to sit, which he did gratefully. He hadn't realized until then how exhausted he felt.

"I was worried," she began, and he watched her wring her hands and pace back and forth out of distress for him. "After your father dragged you down the corridor like that—He looked so angry. I wondered what had set him off. I knew he was a man with a short fuse, but—Oh. No offense."

"None taken," Arthur answered with a scoff.

"Anyway, I made Morgana tell me what was going on." She stopped pacing and looked directly at him. "She told me everything."

He opened his mouth, still feeling the need to explain himself to her, but she instantly flung herself in front of him and held firmly onto his hands.

"Oh, Arthur, I'm _so_ sorry," she exclaimed, sending him for a loop. No, this was _definitely_ not how he'd foreseen the conversation going. "If I had known . . . Does your father not understand?"

"I'm afraid not," Arthur said solemnly. "Mithian, I am sorry I lied to you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said with an honest smile that soon fell. "Did he punish you harshly this time?"

Arthur sighed at this. "You are now betrothed to a man who can never leave the grounds of Camelot Manor again," he said, rolling his eyes, trying to keep his tone light even though it was difficult. "Probably not until we've had at least half a dozen children. And I expect the doctors will drug me out of my wits."

She raised a brow at him. "As if my father would see me marry you _now_," she teased. "I'd say the wedding is off."

He felt guilty that the statement relieved him, especially because there was a twinge of sadness that broke through her mask as she uttered it.

"As is the hospital deal, I'd imagine," he answered.

"Yes," she agreed, giving his hand a supportive squeeze. "So, tell me about him. Who is he, this man for whom you'd defy responsibility and social construct?"

He considered this for a moment, a range of emotions mixing in with his thoughts. It was awkward discussing Merlin with the woman he would have married—mixing the life he wanted with the one he should have led—but he was also strangely comforted that she accepted him. He should have known: Mithian had always been more understanding than he gave her credit for.

How could he describe Merlin? How could he portray the way the moon glimmered on his skin, or how the evening sky was the same color as his eyes? How could he explain their banter or how they had come to be in love despite their glaring differences—despite themselves? How could he tell her everything Merlin was to him?

"He's . . ." Arthur began, realizing at once that no one saw Merlin the way he did. The world only regarded him as one thing, the one thing that was the least of what he was: "He's just a servant . . ."

The word broke Arthur's heart, but it must have held a different meaning for Mithian. She smiled up at him as though it contained all of Arthur's thoughts and feelings towards Merlin, as though she understood.

"He's lucky to be so loved," she replied simply.

"I don't know," Arthur said in a breath. "I think love might have ruined us both."

"But, if you knew the outcome, would you change a thing?" she asked, and his lips curved upwards at the prospect.

"No."

"Then, you can't give up on it. And you won't; that is not the man I know," she told him, readjusting herself to kneel a little higher. "Arthur, we may not be getting married anymore, but I hope we can remain friends. If there is anything I can do—any plan you may have—please, allow me to help."

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. He was grateful for her, but he didn't want to put her in the middle of this. Still, he couldn't do this on his own.

"You're sure?" he asked warily.

"Absolutely," she promised.

He fixed her with a searching stare, wondering if she were really up for the task. When he found no evidence against it, he sprang up from the chair and began pacing.

"Father is planning on moving Merlin to a different hospital. I don't know where, and I imagine he'll never tell me. It will be far away, if I know him," Arthur told her, waving his hand about vaguely as he explained. "But that will take at least twenty-four hours for paperwork, which gives us some time—not much, but some. I have to get Merlin out of there before they move him. That means I've got to get word to him somehow, but Father won't let me out of the house. Normally, I wouldn't ask, but I'm going to _need_ your help—and Morgana's—in order for this to work. You'll have to relay the plan to her, too, as I'm sure Father won't let me near her until he cools down."

Mithian stood up and nodded dutifully. "Tell me where Merlin is and I will get word to him."

"Thank you," he said with a nod.

"And Morgana and I can help you get passed Uther when the time is right, but . . ." She shook her head in thought. "How will you shake off George?"

Arthur scoffed almost gleefully. "You let _me_ take care of George."

Agreeing to this, she asked, "What's our plan?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen.**

_2__nd__ April, 1945_

The estate car jostled back and forth on the pothole-ridden country road as it snaked through hills and wound around miles of open land. Merlin wasn't used to such space. He was so accustomed to cramped surroundings, bustling streets with people walking shoulder to shoulder. The smog and steam of Whitechapel was now replaced with fresh, green air, and he wondered if he would ever get used to it. Sometimes, when he was growing up, Balinor would take him out to the country. He loved lying in the grass and climbing the tall trees and rocks, and he often imagined living amongst them in the wilderness and sleeping under the stars.

Instead, the lights of the city and noises beneath his window were his lullaby. Kent was so silent. That was an upside to the move, he supposed. It was one he'd have to adapt to, but it was an upside, nonetheless. He tried to think of another reason to stay positive, besides the opportunity to be amongst nature, but the only thought turning over in his mind was a bitter one.

He'd get away from everyone back in London.

The thought wasn't fair, of course, because there were more people that he'd miss than not. But there were those who would drive he and Hunith out of town if they didn't leave on their own accord. It was necessary to go, but Merlin didn't understand why it was necessary to move into some manor in Kent to work for people they hardly knew, especially when Gaius had offered them room in his home to the east. Merlin fought with Hunith to go there instead, but she chose south, and he had no choice but to follow.

"Isn't much longer now," the driver told them, glancing at them in the backseat through his rearview mirror. It made Merlin take his eyes off the fields surrounding them and look back into the car at his mother, who was nodding and smiling graciously in response to the driver.

"Are you ready, son?" she asked Merlin in a hushed tone once the driver's attention was back on the road.

Merlin shrugged. "I'm ready to get out of this car," he mumbled, and that much was true. This was the first time he'd ever been in a car, and over two hours was quite long enough. He was starting to get queasy and sore, and he wondered, too, if this was something else about living in the country that he'd have to get used to.

"Now, don't find fault in everything," Hunith told him wearily.

"I'm not," he defended. "I'm just saying, it would have taken a shorter time getting to Essex."

"We've been over this," Hunith said, starting to sound impatient, and Merlin knew what she was going to say before she actually said it. She sounded like a broken record, and Merlin could almost mouth the words along with her as she spoke. "If we went to Essex, we wouldn't have any jobs lined up. Lord Pendragon's offered, and we should be very grateful."

"I could have found something in town," Merlin countered, "and Uncle Gaius would have been more than happy to find you something at the hospital."

"I'm not a nurse," she said.

"Not everyone who works at a hospital is a nurse," he muttered, looking out at the dark sky again. The crescent moon had come out from behind a cloud, and the mist around it hung like a silver scarf.

"I just don't see why we have to move to a different county for this job. Dad always took the train in and out," he continued, just to be confrontational.

"Your father was only needed for a few hours a day. We'll be working full-time," she reasoned. "Sweetheart, please understand this is for the best. The Pendragons always took care of your father. They'll pay us well."

Merlin snorted and hugged himself miserably. "They could pay us all the money in the world and it wouldn't be worth it," he said, not caring if the driver was listening. "Working for that pompous, ostentatious jerk—"

"You're judging the boy before you've even met him!" Hunith snapped.

"I don't _need_ to meet him," Merlin told her, looking back at her again sharply. "You heard what Dad always said about them. He said they're greedy, power-hungry people. He would have never wanted us to _live_ with them. Why do you think he kept us London?"

"Well, London's not an option now," she said, sounding tired again. "We can't afford the flat anymore."

"That's not the reason we left," he said matter-of-factly. He hated that she used that as an excuse, and he was getting tired of her skirting around the subject.

"No, it's not," she agreed with a sigh, holding her purse a little tighter on her lap. "After what happened to that boy—"

"His name was Will," Merlin said softly, suddenly unable to look anywhere but his lap.

"Yes, after what happened to _Will_ . . ." She shook her head with emotion, seeming to collect her thoughts. "Merlin, if I had lost you like that—especially after your father . . . It wasn't safe for you to stay there, after what those other boys did to Will."

"They weren't _boys_, Mum!" Merlin told her passionately. "One of them was Kanen. You've seen him—the butcher. It was his wife who saw us in the first place. If she'd only kept her mouth shut instead of telling the whole neighborhood—"

"You were outside her shop!" Hunith counteracted, as though that was some kind of an explanation.

"And that's reason to beat a man to death?"

Merlin took in a sharp inhale after he realized what he'd said. He never acknowledged the reason for Will's death, at least not out loud. Because it could have been him.

It should have been him.

"It was my fault," Merlin said, twiddling with his fingers just to have something to do with his hands.

"Don't say something like that, sweetheart," Hunith told him, leaning in and placing a hand on his knee. Her expression had gone soft and maternal.

"But it is," Merlin kept on, trying to fight back the pressure building in his eyes. "I'm the one who always wanted to meet in secret. He was never scared of what other people thought. If we hadn't been back there so late, Kanen's wife wouldn't have come out. And Will—"

"You only did what you thought was best," she said, trying to console him, but he didn't listen.

"And now _I_ have to go be a slave to some arrogant, supercilious ass!" Merlin continued, his grief turning into anger again, and then into whining. "You're punishing me, aren't you? This is my punishment."

"Merlin, that's enough!" Hunith scolded, her tone hard again, as she withdrew her hand and sat upright once more. "You have to _try_ to make it work. This is not a punishment. This is our life now, and we're going to make the best of it. Now, look—we're here."

The car was turning into a large, gated drive, and Merlin shifted to look out the windshield over the passenger seat in front of him at the massive mansion. Its windows glowed with a warm yellow light, but the rest was dark and silhouetted against the moonbeams.

"Remember, best behavior," Hunith said pointedly as she prepared herself. "Why don't you let me do the talking for now?"

Merlin begrudgingly agreed as he took another long look at the manor, and at once he was quite certain that he would, in fact, never get used to it. He closed his eyes, enjoying his last moments of not being able to put a face to any of the Pendragons that he heard about so often. He could not imagine a voice, a quirk of an expression, or habitual trait.

He would not let this moment pass idly, because these were the last seconds he could cling to the fraying ends of his old life. This was the last moment he did not know, and did not at all care for, Arthur Pendragon.

* * *

Something was different that morning. He had gone through all the usual motions: Mordred had woken him up, given him his medication, and suggested he get something to eat before his therapy. It had all been the same, but something felt off. Merlin couldn't quite place what it was, but his mind kept turning to his daily routine of chores at Camelot Manor. He kept wondering if he'd accidentally left the sheets hanging out in the rain, or if he'd left the oven on after cooking dinner. There was something important he was missing.

When he closed his eyes, he thought he could hear a familiar voice telling him something imperative or begging him of something, but Merlin couldn't make out the words. He couldn't recognize the voice or find the face of the person it belonged to behind his eyelids. He started to think this was a memory from a forgotten dream, or perhaps he was just imagining it.

There was a knock at his door—soft and delicate, not Mordred's. He opened his eyes to find a small, very beautiful woman standing in the threshold, looking expectant and hurried.

"Are you Merlin?" the woman asked.

"Last time I checked," he answered, "but who knows anymore?"

"Oh, thank god," she breathed. "I've been pretending to work as a volunteer all morning. I thought I'd never find you."

He scanned her up and down and asked warily, "Who are you?"

"My name is Mithian," she replied. "I'm a friend of Arthur's."

His heart jumped at the name. That's whom the voice in his head belonged to. It was Arthur. But what was he saying?

He was sure he had a visible reaction to Arthur's name because she smiled warmly. A friend of Arthur's? A new friend? Merlin did not recognize her but, then again, he could have met her and no longer remembered it. Regardless, she didn't seem offended by his ignorance.

"Arthur? Is he okay?" he asked at once.

She nodded, putting him at ease. "I'm here on his behalf," she told him. "His father is planning on transferring you to another hospital, and Arthur fears he'll never find you again. I believe he's right."

"I believe so, too," Merlin whispered. As much as he wanted to get out of that place, he couldn't bear to leave it. Even if Arthur hadn't shown his face for weeks, the miles between them were still limited, and Merlin didn't want them to expand. Besides, who was to say the next hospital would be better? It was better to stick to the Hell he knew. He couldn't risk his memories of Arthur being wiped away completely in some unknown room hundreds of miles away.

"We won't let that happen," Mithian assured him. "Arthur's coming for you—tonight, at sunset."

Merlin heart did not jump this time; it sunk. He found himself shaking his head.

"What? No. If he gets caught—"

"He won't!" she said with conviction. "Morgana and I are helping him. We'll ensure he doesn't do anything rash."

"The whole thing is rash!" he exclaimed, forgetting to keep his voice down, and she shushed him.

"Merlin, please, we have to _try_," she told him once she was certain he wouldn't yell again. "It's your only chance of ever seeing him again. Don't you want that?"

He looked off and ran his tongue across his cracked lips, but it provided them with very little moisture.

Of course, he wanted to see Arthur again. He'd give anything for it. He knew Arthur would feel the same; he was too hardheaded to give up or think of negative consequences. He'd drag Merlin kicking and screaming from the hospital if he had to—not that he would have to. They both knew it was worth the risk.

"What should I do?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she said, sounding relieved. "Just be ready to leave when we come. We'll take care of everything else."

"What if they've put me to sleep?" he wondered, not able to stop himself from pointing out the plan's flaws.

"We've thought of that. Every time Arthur's visited, you've been asleep, so he planned for it," Mithian told him, and Merlin would have smiled if he remembered how. Arthur _had_ come. All those far-off brushes of fingertips and soft words hadn't been dreams at all. But something else lingered in his memory—some confusion, and Arthur's worried expression. Merlin only saw snapshots, and he wondered if they were real, too.

"We've got it under control," Mithian was saying when he snapped back into attention. "Just go about your business like normal today. Don't let anything on."

Merlin nodded his understanding, deciding to trust her, and Mithian wordlessly turned to leave; but he grabbed her arm and regained her attention in doing so.

"Why are you helping us?" he wondered.

To this, she looked down at his fingers around her arm and gave a sad smile. "Someone should be loved by him."

Merlin loosened his grip on her, and he suddenly knew who she was.

_It's my father, Merlin. He expects me to marry_, Arthur's voice said, echoing in the recesses of Merlin's thoughts, undulating to the forefront and bringing with them more tidbits of conversation.

How could he have forgotten that? How could have given up so easily in his fight against the treatment? What else was he forgetting?

He had to get out of that hospital once and for all, before he lost anything else. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on within those walls.

Pushing all doubts about the plan from his head, he willed himself to believe it would work, and he watched Mithian slip out of the room.

* * *

All day, Merlin could not take his eyes from the windows. It was a bright, sunny day in a crisp autumn. The leaves on the trees of the grounds were floating downwards and painted in warmth, so that the whole scenery of the rolling hills glowed golden in the sunlight. However, he could not wait for that sun to go down. Each passing moment brought him closer to Arthur, closer to leaving the hospital behind and regaining his peace of mind. Soon, he would be safe.

He tried not to let on, as Mithian instructed. He still scowled at Mordred and gave short, scathing answers to Odin, even though most of the time he wanted to laugh in both of their faces. He restrained the skip in his step, forcing himself to shuffle mindlessly along with the other patients.

But there were moments when his excitement captivated him. He had absolutely convinced himself that the plan would go seamlessly, and he found himself daydreaming of the future. He hadn't thought of the future for so long, but now it was full and bright. And he would be with Arthur. He didn't know how or where, but they _would_ be together.

He was lost in thought, and it was mid-afternoon as he trudged down the corridor when, near the nurses' station, he absentmindedly bumped into someone walking in his path. The other man was tall and solid, and he gave a soft grunt upon impact. It knocked Merlin back into his senses and he muttered quick apologizes. However, his words trailed away when he looked up at the man's face, and he had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly.

"Not a problem," Percy said, sounding tired, and appearing not to recognize Merlin. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

Merlin gaped at him, letting out confused noises from his throat. Percy didn't seem to notice, as he was already shuffling passed, and Merlin followed him with his eyes.

No, that wasn't right. Percy had gone home months ago. Merlin had seen him leave, he was absolutely certain of it. The man had come on his own free will; he was determined to shake his demons. But, if he was back, that meant the treatment wore off. Even those who did not fight against it remembered their old lives after some time. The mind was too resilient.

And that meant, for over three months, he had been drugged, electrocuted, put into comas, and very nearly lost himself; a woman had died, along with others—and for what?

As his mind turned, he didn't exactly remember when he started walking again, but he headed purposefully towards the recreation area, hoping to find Gwaine. All thoughts of Arthur and their soon-to-be life together were put on the backburner for the first time in hours, and he never felt so much resistance towards the treatment than he did in that moment. Gwaine _had_ to know. Maybe it would push him on, it would keep him from giving in.

Luckily, Gwaine was in the room, sitting at the same table as before, as though he hadn't moved from the spot. Merlin ran towards him, no longer caring about the nurses and orderlies he passed. They shot him strange looks, and Merlin noticed Mordred in the corner, pausing his chat with another man to regard Merlin with confusion.

"You'll never guess who I just saw," Merlin said before he was fully in the seat across from Gwaine. The statement got Gwaine's attention immediately, and Merlin wondered why he hadn't started all their conversations with such urgency. It would have saved a lot of time.

Gwaine shifted his eyes in question before shrugging apathetically.

"Percy," Merlin emphasized, leaning in and giving Gwaine a meaningful look.

The indifference in Gwaine's expression was replaced with confusion. "Percy," he said, as though remembering the name for the first time in a long time. "What? But . . . Didn't he—?"

"_Months_ back," Merlin told him, and Gwaine sat back in his chair heavily.

"Gwaine, don't you know what this means?" Merlin said, readjusting himself in his chair to look at Gwaine directly. "The experiment doesn't work."

Gwaine gaped, looking down at the table in shock.

Somehow, Merlin knew he was getting through to him, so he continued, "They've been _torturing_ us for _no reason_!"

"Shit . . ." Gwaine hissed, sounding half-angry and half-disappointed in himself for almost giving up. "And you're sure it was him?"

"Completely," Merlin told him.

"Well, then fuck this . . . _Fuck_ this!" Gwaine said with a gesture. He pushed his index finger pointed on the tabletop. "We gotta fight back."

Merlin felt a wave of guilt crash over him as he remembered that, in a few hours time, he wouldn't even be there anymore. He was leaving Gwaine to rot like he thought everyone had left him. He couldn't do that—not to his friend. Gwaine had to come with them. Arthur could rescue them both. They could take Gwaine somewhere safe. They could take him back home.

Just as Merlin was about to tell him this, Gwaine nodded his head, looking decisive and more like himself than he had in weeks, and said with renewed vigor, "You know what, mate. This is the sanest I've felt since I got to this Hell hole."

He stood up abruptly, causing his chair to topple over with a metallic crash, and all the staff in the now silent room turned their heads quickly towards the noise. Gwaine shot Merlin a wink, which made Merlin's stomach churn forebodingly, before turning away and walking intently across the room towards Mordred and the other orderly.

Merlin could only watch on in mortification as Gwaine got closer, and something in his eyes must have alerted the orderly, because his posture tensed. At his side, Gwaine's fist was balled tightly and, when he was finally close enough, he reeled it back and punched the orderly squarely in the nose, so hard that the man stumbled back and clasped his hands to his face. Crimson instantly streamed through the cracks of his fingers, and Merlin gasped in the realization that Gwaine had probably broken bone.

The other members of staff present were on Gwaine instantly, but he grappled against them, throwing more punches at anyone who got close. The patients had all stood up, some of them bouncing on their toes to get a better look. Merlin, too, sprang to his feet and watched the chaos unfold across the room.

"Yeah, you fucking _bastards_! What are you goin' to do?" Gwaine was jeering, just before two members of staff managed to get a hold of him from behind and twist his arms around his back. He let out a shout of pain, but it quickly turned into a loud laugh.

"Sedate him!" Mordred shouted from somewhere in the throng.

"That's right, sedate him!" Gwaine called, sounding humored. "Put me to sleep if it makes you feel better! Won't make a difference! Your little experiment is bullocks! You hear that, everyone! It's all _crap_!"

As the other patients around him began to murmur, Merlin was almost shaking with a crippling blame. This was his fault. He shouldn't have told Gwaine. He should have known he would react this way. He watched as a nurse paced hesitantly towards Gwaine with a needle of insulin. She was looking for the best path in, even though Gwaine was restrained and only struggling minimally now, and Merlin couldn't allow her to put him down. The last time he hadn't helped a friend, she had died. That would _not_ happen to Gwaine, too.

So he ran. He ran right into the group and pushed the nurse out of the way, knocking her into one of the orderlies that restrained Gwaine. He broke free and shot Merlin a smile of comradery as they stood shoulder to shoulder. He smiled back as best he could, and they both prepared for the next inevitable onslaught, as though they were soldiers sharing a foxhole against an enemy. But they were outnumbered on all sides, and it wasn't much of a battle before they were forced away from each other and held firmly.

Gwaine had four people holding him this time, not breaking no matter how hard he tried to rip himself free. Merlin only had two, but they were strong, and his elbows and shoulders were bent uncomfortably around his back, which made it hard to move his upper half, so he kicked out instead. Mordred was in the center of both groups, looking wildly from one to the other as though deciding what to do.

"I'd better call the doctor," he seemed to decide.

"No need," came a voice from behind him, and Merlin forgot to kick as he caught sight of Odin walking into the room.

Bayard trailing behind him, asking, "What in God's name is going on here?"

"These two, sir," Mordred hopped to explain, "they started attacking."

"You attacked first!" Gwaine yelled, spitting down at Odin's shoes, but Merlin only felt himself go numb. Odin hated him already, and he was sure Gwaine was number two on Odin's list—or, at least, he was now. They would be punished for certain, and that _couldn't_ happen—not so close to sunset. Not so close to Arthur. How had Merlin allowed the situation to get away from him so grandly?

Sure enough, Odin shot a hateful glower down at the pile of saliva before turning it on Gwaine.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Odin said to Mordred. "Sedate them both."

When Odin turned to exit the room, Mordred let out an unsure noise that grabbed his attention.

"I don't think that's the best idea, sir," Mordred said apologetically. He nodded to Gwaine first and continued, "This one, no problem, but . . . Merlin's only been up for a few hours. His system hasn't had time to expel the last dose of insulin and—"

"We'll just have to hope his body is just as strong-willed as his mind, then," Odin said through his teeth, sounding perturbed that someone had attempted to correct him.

Mordred wilted under his glare and nodded, even though it was clearly against his better judgment. "Yes, sir."

"What?" Merlin shouted, redoubling his attempts to break free, but the men holding him had clasped on tighter. "No, you _can't_!"

"You can bring up any complaints in our next session, Mr. Emrys. Sweet dreams for now," Odin said harshly. He left, and Bayard gave Merlin a remorseful glance before following Odin out.

"Right—Okay," Mordred said, squaring his shoulders and taking charge now that the doctors had left. "Come on, boys. Time for a kip."

"Won't hold me back for long. We'll finish this when I wake up, yeah?" Gwaine assured him with a taunting smirk as Mordred approached him. He didn't even flinch when the needle pierced his skin and, momentarily, he was out cold.

Next, Mordred was handed another vial and a second needle, and he walked towards Merlin. "I'll only give you enough for a short sleep, okay?" he said as he tipped the vial over on top of the needle and drew the stopper back. He no doubt wanted to sound merciful and assuring, but Merlin had never hated him more.

"My _angel_," he spat, and Mordred's steady hand slipped slightly due to the shock of the words. However, he recovered quickly enough, wrapped his gloved fingers over Merlin's exposed arm, and brought the needle to Merlin's skin.

"Wait, _no_," Merlin said, suddenly fearful rather than angry. He tried to retract from Mordred, but he was held steady on all sides. He kept his eyes fixed on the syringe, tensing his muscles in defense and trying to squirm around as best he could so that Mordred couldn't stick him.

Mordred let out a frustrated sound and looked up at one of the men holding Merlin. "Could you . . .?" he questioned, nodding to Merlin's arm. Merlin was jerked forward as the man yanked his arm closer to Mordred, holding Merlin's palm upwards to expose the veins.

"No, _don't_!" Merlin yelled thickly, drowning out Mordred's quick thank you, but it was no use. He hissed when the needle entered him, and he was helpless when the stopper was pushed down fully.

He couldn't quite feel the insulin flow through him, but he was aware of his heart rate slowing, and he began to feel muddled. He shook his head against it, making sure to keep his eyes wide open. He tried thrashing, just to keep himself awake. He shouted and yelled and bit at the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron, but the world was in a haze and his eyes were glazing over.

He knew he had to trust Arthur's plan. If Arthur had accounted for Merlin being asleep when he arrived, Merlin would have faith in him. So what if he missed the grand escape? That wasn't the important part. When he woke up, he would be speeding down the motorway at Arthur's side. He would be safe.

There was no choice. He allowed the darkness to wash over him, not realizing that, as it did, he had Arthur's name on his lips.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen.**

Arthur stood in front of the cupboard, its double doors wide open so that he could look at himself in the full length mirror on the right side. He was fiddling with his tie, trying and failing to get it off, and letting out frustrated noises. Eventually, he sighed heavily and looked behind him at the man standing to attention in the corner of the room.

"George?"

George broke his statuesque pose to look at Arthur inquisitively.

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you please help me with this?" Arthur asked politely, and for the first time he saw emotion overcome the manservant's expression. He looked almost pleased.

"Why, of course, sir," George said as he strode the length of the room and positioned himself in front of Arthur.

Arthur couldn't help but to think that, if it had been Merlin, he would have grumbled something sarcastic before gripping Arthur's tie at the knot and yanking him into a kiss. He felt almost giddy in the realization that he'd soon have that back, but he hid his emotion well.

When George finished, he smiled at his handiwork, brushed Arthur's shoulder with his palm, and stepped back. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

A corner of Arthur's lips curved into a smirk as he said, "Just one thing."

Quickly, he grabbed George by the shoulders and, hardly processing the panicked expression on George's features in the blur of movement, shoved him into the wardrobe and slammed both of the doors shut.

"Sir! Sir!"

The doors tried to open again immediately, but Arthur forced them in place with one hand as he used the other to tear his tie out of his collar.

"I'd say I'm sorry, George," he grunted against the strength it took to hold the doors closed, "but you _did_ rat me out."

He looped the tie through the handles on the wardrobe's doors and knotted the ends tightly together a few times. When he was satisfied they would hold, he rushed to the bed and knelt down beside it, taking out a packed rucksack from beneath it. He stood up again and took one last, solemn sweeping look around his bedroom before leaving it behind to muffled cries of, "Sir, please! Sir! I don't do well in confined spaces!"

He made sure he closed the main door of the room for good measure.

He snuck to the first landing on the stairwell, having to dodge a few maids on the way, where he met Morgana and Mithian, as planned.

"Is he taken care of?" Morgana asked.

"Locked in a cupboard," Arthur assured her.

She gave him a strange look before shaking it away and nodding her acceptance.

"Father's in his study," she reported. "He should be there all afternoon, provided no one catches us and causes a ruckus. Let's go."

She started down the stairs first, and Mithian went last. All of them checked their surroundings warily, looking around corners and listening out for anyone. At one point, they had to stop until three chatting servants passed the corridor they were hiding in, but they soon made it to the back door of the manor. From there, they snuck around to the side of the house, where Arthur's Continental was waiting. The three piled into the car, and Arthur held his breath as the engine roared into life, but thankfully no one was around to hear it.

On the way down the drive, they passed by a few gardeners, but all they did was wave happily. Arthur was able to breathe easier when they cleared the gate. He even rolled down the window to enjoy the breeze.

* * *

The sun was almost on the horizon by the time they pulled into car park next to the hospital and stepped into the chilly dusk.

"As soon as you get up to Merlin's floor, you should find a gurney next to the nurses' station. They keep them handy just in case," Morgana told them as the three of them met in front of the car and started briskly towards the building. "I'll keep Merlin's orderly out of the ward. Give me five minutes to retrieve him before you go in. No one else will know his schedule as well as Mordred. No one will think twice if Merlin isn't in his room, but I won't be able to hold him off for long, so hurry. Pretend like you're supposed to be here and you should be fine."

"We will," Mithian promised.

They stopped close to the wall of the hospital, knowing it was time to split up, and Morgana squared her shoulders before spinning around to look at Arthur directly.

"You're sure about this?" she asked. "You don't have to go, you know? The two of us—and Merlin—we can stay with Leon. He'll take us in, and you can live with us after the wedding until you find a place of your own. You can still get away from Father."

Arthur was touched by the offer, but he took Morgana's hand in both of his and shook his head.

"He'll find us eventually," he said. "The least I can do is make it difficult for him."

Morgana took in a heavy inhale through her nose to steel herself, and she nodded bravely in understanding. And that was that. There was nothing left to say, no more plans that Morgana could help them with. She was putting herself on the line for him and, when Uther realized what had happened, Morgana would be left with the aftermath. But she would be fine. She had Leon. He was a good man who loved and respected her for all that she was, and they would escape Uther's wrath together. Perhaps they would even move to Birmingham after all. He hoped so: Both siblings needed to leave Kent in their past.

Arthur gazed at his older sister with a mixture of reverence and guilt. For a moment, he couldn't bring himself to move from his spot; because, if all went according to plan, this was the last time he'd see her for a very long time—possibly forever. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't know how.

Apparently, she did.

"Take care, dear brother," she told him, her voice cracking only fractionally as they filled the arm's length between them and embraced. She held him for a long time, one arm around his waist and the other cradling his head, and he wrapped both arms tightly around her.

"And you," he whispered into her hair.

When the hug broke, her icy-colored eyes were red, but she stayed strong with a supportive nod of her head before she started on the pathway towards the lobby. Arthur watched her go until she rounded the building, and Mithian wasted no time touching his arm to gently rouse him from his reverie.

"We better move," she told him softly, and he agreed silently.

They went in the opposite direction of Morgana, headed towards the back of the hospital, where Morgana told them there was an entrance that led into the cellar. They located it quickly, along with a number of fire exits that were wired to set off an alarm if opened. However, the cellar door was silent, and they soon found themselves surrounded by boxes of supplies, pre-packaged food, broken machinery, and other medical provisions.

Arthur located the lift on the other side of the room and alerted Mithian to it, but she held him back.

"Hold on, Arthur. I have an idea," she said, shooting him a sly smirk that halted him. He watched as she left his side for a row of boxes, marked "scrubs," on one of the metal-shelving units. She opened it and pulled out the top half of a dark blue nurse's uniform. She held it up to her shoulders, testing to see if it would fit and, when she was confident it was a good match, gave him another successful grin.

"You're a genius," he told her, starting towards the box.

Minutes later, they were stepping out of the lift on Merlin's floor. Mithian traded her dress for the blue scrubs while Arthur donned the white uniform worn by the orderlies and a lab coat. They found a gurney next to the nurses' station, where Morgana said it would be, and rolled it between them. As they walked, they made sure to keep their heads down so that passing staff members wouldn't notice that they've never seen them before. They simply did as Morgana told them: they pretended they belonged, but they were careful, too, and constantly on the lookout.

When they got to Merlin's room, Arthur rolled the gurney in and Mithian closed the door silently behind them. Arthur took a moment to breathe, reminding himself not to take their success for granted, because the hardest part hadn't yet come.

He looked towards the bed, where Merlin was laying flat on his back beneath the sheets, his wrists strapped down to either side of the mattress. His breaths were heavy and audibly broken, and his chest was rising and falling with rapid motion.

"What's wrong with him?" Mithian worried as she paced to one side of the bed. Arthur hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before moving to stand across from her and looking down at Merlin.

He wasn't asleep, but Arthur wasn't sure he was conscious, either. His eyelids were fluttering rapidly, and his entire body was vibrating with tremors. And he was pale, more so than Arthur had seen him ever before. He looked like a ghost.

"His pulse is racing," Mithian said when she touched her fingers to the pulse point on his neck. "What's the matter with him?"

"I don't—" Arthur stuttered, placing a palm onto Merlin's forehead. He was in a cold sweat. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Arthur. "It must be the insulin. They use it to induce comas."

"What?" Mithian gasped. She backed away from the bed, suddenly looking unsure. "Arthur, this is a bad idea. We can't move him. If he's gotten too much insulin—The doctors will be able to treat it."

He knew she was right, and all the implications of removing Merlin from the hospital flooded his mind, but the consequences of leaving him were all too apparent. Making a split second decision, Arthur unbuckled the bound on Merlin's wrist.

"No," he said, reaching across the bed to undo the other. "I'm not leaving him here. This is our one shot. Our only chance. If we turn back now, I will _never_ see him again."

"Arthur, think logically," Mithian pleaded. "If this is some kind of overdose, he will—"

"He will _not_ die!" Arthur snapped, making her jump slightly. "I won't let him. Now, help me."

He looked over at Mithian, who was chewing on her bottom lip in discomfort. To this, his expression softened.

"Please," he begged.

This seemed to do the trick, because she quietly obeyed by helping Arthur lift Merlin. Arthur grabbed his shoulders while she positioned herself at his feet and, on the count of three, they heaved him off the hospital bed and onto the gurney. They then hid him beneath a bed sheet.

"It's alright, Merlin, we've got you," he promised, although he wasn't sure Merlin could hear him, and they rolled him out of the room.

Once in the corridor, Mithian lead the way, surreptitiously keeping an eye out for anything that might hinder their progress.

They just needed to get passed the nurses' station, where the lift was, to get Merlin to the cellar; however, when they cleared the wall next to reception, Mithian stopped short, causing Arthur to rear the gurney into her back.

"Back, back, back!" she hissed.

Arthur didn't question it. He took a few steps backwards, pulling the gurney with him, and Mithian followed his lead until the wall once more covered them.

"What is it?" Arthur asked in a harsh whisper over the gurney, but Mithian didn't answer. She didn't have to.

A booming voice sounded through the area.

"I know he's here, Morgana! Get out of my way!"

Arthur felt the air leave him as Mithian clapped a hand over her open mouth.

"No," Arthur said when he regained the ability of speech. "No, no, not _now_."

"Father, please! I don't know where he is," Morgana shouted back. Arthur could not see her, but he got the mental image of her using her body as a barricade.

"Nonsense," Uther yelled. "Why else would he trap that serving boy in the wardrobe?"

"I don't know—"

"And why else would _you_ be here? You've been helping him all this time."

"Father!"

"We need to get to a stairwell," Arthur said, not interested in hearing the rest of the argument. Morgana would give him a few more moments, he was sure of it. She could handle the situation.

"What room is the boy in? _Nurse_!"

"Mithian, back this way," Arthur hissed, causing her to turn her wide eyes on him.

She shook herself back into the moment and they doubled back down the corridor, walking as swiftly as they dared without arising suspicion.

At the end of the corridor, they reached an emergency stairwell, and they directed the gurney through it until they were on the concrete landing.

"What now?" Mithian worried, looking down the long flight of stairs. "We can't just _push_ a gurney down!"

"Help me," Arthur said, thinking fast, and tossed the sheet off of Merlin. Arthur didn't know if it was the low lighting of the stairwell, but Merlin looked even more pallid.

Together, they sat Merlin up. They swung his legs over the side of the bed and threw either of his arms over their shoulders for support.

They managed to stand him up between them, despite the awkward height difference. Merlin was a lot lighter than Arthur remembered, and Arthur could feel him shivering against his side. Merlin's lips parted and his head rolled downward, and Arthur felt like all the air had been knocked from him for a second time.

Wordlessly, they abandoned the gurney and started down the flight. It was more difficult to drag Merlin along than expected, especially when his tremors made them have to constantly reposition their hold on him. With every step, he got heavier, like dead weight, and they were forced to stop for a rest three landings down.

"We've only got two more floors," Arthur panted, trying to support Merlin alone as Mithian caught her breath. "This stairwell must lead to the cellar. You go ahead—pull the car 'round. I'll meet you outside the fire door."

He reached into his pocket and tossed her his keys, which she fumbled before catching.

"Are you sure you can carry him alone?"

He took a heavy breath and nodded at her determinedly.

"Go," he requested, and she straightened out and flew down the stairs.

Arthur didn't waste any time before tossing Merlin over his shoulder, like Atlas to his very own, private world. It was clumsy walking down the steps at first, and Arthur had to take it slow in order to balance, but he eventually got the hang of it and he was pushing through the ground level fire exit and into the night in a matter of minutes. As soon as the door opened, sirens blared. He had minutes before the fire brigade arrived, and even less time before Uther came outside and found them.

Luckily, the Continental was in park a few feet from the exit, its engine humming, and Mithian opened the door and jumped out. She helped Arthur maneuver Merlin into the passenger seat before following him around to the driver's side.

"Do you have somewhere you can go?" she demanded as they walked through the stream of headlights.

"Merlin has an uncle in Essex. He's a doctor," Arthur told her swiftly. "He can put Merlin right, I'm sure of it."

"And you're sure he's trustworthy?"

"Yes," Arthur said hopefully as he clicked open the door and stood halfway in the car. "Merlin has always spoken very highly of him. He'll keep our secret."

"Good," Mithian agreed. "You mustn't stay there for very long—only a few days. After that, take Merlin somewhere far away."

Arthur wasn't sure why she was saying this. Couldn't they discuss this on the way to Gaius'?

"I will," he said, furrowing his brow.

"You'd better get going, then," she answered with a vague nod towards the car park.

"What?" he panicked. "Aren't you coming? I may still need your help."

"Arthur, your father will figure out where you've gone any second," she told him, her words against the muffled ringing of the fire alarm. "I won't tell him your destination if I can help it. Morgana and I will hold him back—or at least give you a head start. Now, please, _go_. Get Merlin into care."

He rattled his head, realizing she was right. There was no time to argue.

"Thank you, Mithian," he said. He began to duck into the car, but then stopped himself. Straightening out again, he looked at her with large eyes.

"Everything you've done for me—"

"Arthur." She smiled up at him kindly, placing a warm palm, whose finger once wore a diamond ring, to his cheek. "I'm glad to help. I would say that, perhaps in another life, you and I—," she cast a look into the passenger seat behind the windshield, and her hand slipped from his cheek. "But perhaps not."

Looking back at him, she composed herself and said, "_Go_. I hope you find your peace."

"Thank you," he said again, because he didn't know what else to say, and slid into the car. As he pulled away from the curb, Mithian was already rushing back into the hospital to aid Morgana.

* * *

The Continental sped through the black night, kicking up the fallen leaves littering the side of the country road as they wound their way northeast. Arthur had been driving as fast as the wheels could take him for a little over a half an hour, and Merlin still hadn't come to. At points, he sputtered and his breaths were becoming more shallow and intermittent.

The road led them along the cliffs, and Arthur saw the moon's broken reflection dance and sparkle on the water.

As he switched gears to push the car along faster, he heard a soft whisper, barely audible over the revving of the engine.

"Arthur," Merlin said, and Arthur almost swerved off the road in shock.

"Merlin?" he called, turning his eyes onto Merlin, who still looked like he was in a nightmarish, troubled sleep. His head was tilted to his side so that Arthur could see his face, and his lips were moving infinitesimally.

"Arthur," he breathed again, his voice hitching. Arthur could not tell if Merlin was waking up or if he was slipping further into delusion.

"I'm here," Arthur told him regardless, reaching over and placing a firm hand on the center of Merlin's chest.

As though the contact had caused it, Merlin let out choked sounds deep within his throat. His body spasmed and seized up, making blood and sick jut out from his mouth and down his torso until it hit the car seat.

"_Merlin_!" Arthur shouted, panicked.

Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the car over to a grassy patch next to the cliffs and didn't bother to turn the engine off before jumping out. He rushed to the passenger side and tore the door open before grabbing Merlin under the armpits and dragging him out. Merlin's legs kicked involuntarily as they dragged on the grass.

Merlin choked, causing him to vomit again, and Arthur had the sense to hold him upright so that the mess fell the grass below.

When it subsided, Merlin's body went limp, and Arthur dragged him a few feet away until his knees gave out beneath him and he fell towards the cold, damp grass. He cradled Merlin's head in his lap and made sure he was still breathing.

It was at that point that Arthur decided to breathe himself—to _think_. There must have been something he could do. There must have been a hospital on the way to Essex, somewhere close by where Uther couldn't find them. However, whether for ignorance or terror, he couldn't think of a single place to take refuge.

"Arthur . . ."

His whirling thoughts almost made him miss it, but the sound of his name brought him back to reality. He looked down at Merlin, who was gazing up at him with hooded eyes.

"Merlin!" he half-cried, half-laughed.

"You found me," Merlin said in a low, rough voice.

"I did," Arthur said. "I said I would."

"You're late," Merlin told him.

Arthur felt a sad smile crack his face. "Well, it's payback for when _you_ were always too lazy to be on time."

Merlin let out a sound that could have been a laugh, and Arthur chose to believe he wore a grin instead of a grimace. His eyes fluttered closed again, but Arthur shook him and called his name, and Merlin blinked them open again.

"Merlin, we're going to your uncle's," Arthur said slowly, clearly. "He can make you better. Just hold on a little longer. You _have_ to hold on."

This time, Arthur was certain Merlin was chuckling.

"I _have_ been holding on, you prat—for I can't remember how long," he wheezed. "I've been holding on to you."

"A little longer," Arthur insisted, his breath catching in his throat.

Arthur turned his head to the car, calculating the distance it was from him and how much strength he'd need to exert to get Merlin there.

"No, look at me," Merlin stammered, sounding urgent. Arthur shot his head back and obeyed, and the fear in Merlin's eyes turned to happiness.

He reached an unsteady hand up, brushing his fingers against Arthur's lips and chin.

"Your eyes," he whispered. "I remember them. The exact shade." Merlin's own eyes began to fill, and he looked panicked again. "I'd rather die than forget," he said shakily.

"No, you won't have to do either," Arthur promised. "You're safe now."

"Safe," Merlin said, reveling in the word. He dropped his hand.

He began sputtering again and letting out choking noises, and Arthur's heart pounded with fear.

"Merlin, Merlin, easy!" Arthur cooed until Merlin regained control of himself.

"Say it again," Merlin said, his voice weaker now. Sweat dripped down his temple and mixed with his hair, as though every word were a weight. "I want to hear it."

Arthur's eyes strung, and he swallowed hard.

"Tell me you love me."

"I—I do," Arthur said whole-heartedly, nodding feverishly. "I do love you."

An unmistakable, dream-like grin broke onto Merlin's face, but it was cut short by another fit. Arthur brought him in closer and stared up at the heavens. He sat helplessly, listening to Merlin's breath mix with the continuous humming of the nearby engine.

Far beneath them, the waves crashed against the rocks, but the water no longer mirrored the pale orb in the sky. The moon was hidden, depriving the night of its light, save for a silver outline around the cloud covering it.

However, the rest of the sky above them was clear, and the stars blanketed the darkness, and Orion twinkled just for them.

"Oh," Merlin said, sounding as though he just remembered something he'd almost forgotten. It grabbed Arthur's attention. "I _do_ love you," Merlin repeated back to him with hitching words.

Somewhere in the close distance, the sound of another engine erupted, and two beams of light broke through the darkness, but they went unnoticed.

Arthur felt something wet slip from the corner of his eye as he nodded down at Merlin.

"Every day until the day you die?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"And after," Merlin promised, and he smiled. "If there is an after."

Merlin convulsed. He skewed his eyes shut and let out pained, throaty sounds, and all Arthur could do was wrap his arms tighter around Merlin's body in a meek attempt to hold him still. His mind was completely blank except for one mantra, which flowed from his lips.

"Merlin! Merlin! Please, _god_, no."

Merlin stilled, and Arthur clutched onto him, listening for breathing and angered when he couldn't hear anything passed his own ragged intakes. He searched Merlin's face, praying for a sign of life. Only a moment later, Merlin's lips parted, and his eyelids slid open halfway to reveal a vacant, veiled stare that reflected the starlight.

"No . . ." Arthur exhaled. The cold sea winds set in and chilled his bones.

Bright white lights blinded him, followed by the screeching of brakes as Uther's Jaguar bounced on the uneven terrain and slid to a halt next to the Continental.

The passenger's side door swung open first, and Morgana ran a few feet away from it.

"Arthur!" she called, but he was too numb to respond. She stopped short when she saw the scene, letting her arms dangle at her sides.

The backseat door opened simultaneously with the driver's side, and Arthur was vaguely aware of Mithian climbing out of the back and rushing to Morgana's side. Uther stayed standing in the open door, peering over the top of the car with angry eyes that soon turned somber. Mithian was the only one who knew where Arthur was headed, and she wouldn't tell Uther unless she was forced to. He wondered what his father had threatened her with, but he didn't suppose it mattered now.

"Oh, my Lord," Mithian said from somewhere very far away and clasped her hands over her mouth and nose.

Arthur heard Morgana raging and Uther shouting back at her, but they sounded like they were under water. Arthur heard none of it. He stared down at the body in his arms, strangely aware of how freezing his fingers and toes felt.

But he thought of the summer sunshine. He chose to remember it as it haloed raven hair . . .

* * *

_23__rd__ June, 1947_

The birds were chirping a morning song outside the bedroom window. The breeze filtered in, carrying with it the sounds of the workmen toiling in the gardens below, and making the red curtains billow. The sun was warm as it streamed through to the bed, where limbs were tangled and laughter was barely muffled by pillows.

"You're still stuck with me all day," said Merlin, looking up at Arthur through his eyelashes. His blue gaze sparkled in the morning rays, and his dark hair contrasted the shocking white of the sheets. Arthur counted the freckles on his shoulder blades, and their number reminded him of the time.

"Not if you get fired," he said, tearing his eyes away to look at the clock. He regretted his words instantly, but he had no control of them. If Merlin were thought to be slacking on his duties, Uther would sack him for certain. That would put Arthur in an awkward position if he tried to defend Merlin, which he would do. It was better to avoid that scenario altogether.

"You're right. We had better get going," he finished reluctantly, and Merlin was nodding softly, clearly as disappointed as Arthur felt. He looked like he wanted to say something, but lacked the courage to say it.

But Arthur knew already, because the same thoughts turned through his mind.

He wanted to silently tell Merlin they'd be together again soon, that this was not the end, while giving them both something to hold on to until then.

And, this time, but only in his dreams, the door did not open. There were no angry shouts or feelings of terror. They would dress and join the bustling manor during the daytime, keeping their cherished secret close to them while chores or duty kept them busy. They would longue around in the parlor or on the lawn all day, stealing glances, and, when no one was watching, sneak away to some hidden and isolated place—all with the unspoken promise of being back in each other's arms that night.

It's true, they would have to survive a whole day until then, but at least for now they were alone—if only for a moment.

Arthur leaned down and tilted his head in, and Merlin was smiling.

And he kissed him.

**THE END.**

* * *

Soundtrack  
_First Breath After Coma_ – Explosions in the Sky  
_Delicate_ – Damien Rice  
_Nocturne for Piano No. 9_ – Chopin  
_Crash_ – Dave Matthews Bands  
_We're Turning Into Regular People_ – The Tumbled Sea  
_All I Want_ – Kodaline  
_The Only Moment We Were Alone_ – Explosions in the Sky  
_Demons_ – Dry the River


End file.
